Destiny of Souls
by valiasedai
Summary: A sheltered life as a Tower mage has left Valene Amell with strong ideals and values. The Blight, her companions and love challenge those tightly-held beliefs as she finds herself in a world which is increasingly grey. ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue

Valene trudged along the road, doing her best to keep up with Duncan in her long robes and soft shoes. She cursed herself for not procuring some sturdier boots. Every bump and stone plagued her feet, though today nothing seemed to register. She could hardly believe she was on her way to Ostagar, on her way to becoming a Grey Warden. It was the third morning since she had been summoned to the Harrowing Chamber. It was the first morning she'd been able to think clearly. The sound of Duncan's armor, lightly ringing against itself in a steady rhythm, lulled her, calmed her. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to remember...

_The day started like any other. Valene awoke at down, washed quickly and dressed with all the other initiates. After a quick breakfast, she went to the library, hoping to further her understanding of one of the schools of magic. She had just sat down to read more on primal spells when a small, delicate hand had touched her shoulder. It was one of the many servants of the tower, an elf named Therien. She appeared nervous, her hand quivering slightly._

_"Therien, are you alright? What is it?" Valene asked. Therien was one of the few servants who bothered to speak with apprentices of the tower. Most just did their job, much like the Templars. Valene considered her a friend, which earned some disapproving glances from those humans who felt themselves better than servants in general, but superior to elves in general._

_Therien shook her head, her face pale. "No, I, I have a summons for you. From First Enchanter Irving."_

_Valene felt as though her heart had stopped. A summons from the First Enchanter for an apprentice of her age and skill could only mean one of two things. She was to undergo the Harrowing or the Rite of Tranquility. She knew as much about it as any other apprentice or servant in the Tower: you either come back from the Harrowing a full mage or you are never seen again. Clearing her throat, Valene asked, "He could just want me for something else, a particular chore or-"_

_Therien shook her head and cut Valene off abruptly. "No. There are Templars in the Harrowing chamber. I heard two talking about it while I was serving this morning."_

_Trying to at least appear calm, Valene stood up, shutting her book and smoothing her robes. "Well," she said, in a voice shakier than she'd hoped, "I guess I should get going. Could you put my book away, please?"_

_Therien gave Valene a half-hearted smile. "Of course." Throwing her arms around Valene, she hugged her friend fiercely. "Be strong. Do well. Maker bless you."_

_Valene hugged the woman back and whispered. "Thank you, friend. I'll seek you out if..." Valene stopped and sighed. "I'll see you when all is done." Therien nodded, her eyes wet. Valene turned and began making her way to the First Enchanter's office._

_An hour later, Valene and First Enchanter Irving made their way to the top of the stairs. Valene's hands trembled with nerves and anticipation. She wanted to prove herself so badly, yet she could not stop herself from remembering the last apprentice to disappear after being summoned. The girl had been two years older than Valene was now, and while she wasn't the most talented or creative, she had worked hard and been excited to take her place among the mages. One day she had been summoned and that was the last Valene had seen of her. She shuddered, remembering, and Irving turned to her. "You'll be fine, my child. Be steadfast and you will do well. Remember all we have taught you." Valene nodded absently._

_As they reached the top of the steps, the Harrowing Chamber came into view. There were half a dozen Templars she didn't recognize, along with Gregoir, the Knight-Commander and Cullen, a younger Templar who was more sympathetic to the mages than most. Usually happy and easy-going, today Cullen was staring into the distance, face ashen, mouth tight. The First Enchanter began to speak, explaining the process. Valene would have to enter the Fade, defeat a demon and return, and quickly to. The Templars were there to see to it that nothing went wrong. If it did... A sheen of sweat formed on her forehead and she glanced at Cullen again. He was staring at her with a look of utter despair. He held her gaze for a few heartbeats before turning away._

_"Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded so shall you." Irving intoned. Giving Valene an encouraging nod he motioned towards the glowing blue pedestal. Gregoir stood by, stoic and cold. Valene took a deep breath and approached the pedestal. The sight of the lyrium excited her, overwhelming her fear. It looked like liquid moonlight, only it was more alive than any light she had ever seen. It pulsed and throbbed, it lured her in. Her mouth hung open slightly as she reached towards it in fascination. The lyrium leaped onto her hand as if it was a living thing with a mind of its own. Her eyes grew wide and she held her breath._

_In an instant the world was consumed by light. Blue fire burned through her veins as the world around shattered, dissolving not into blackness, but light that pierced every part of her, wracking her body with pain. She opened her mouth to scream and found that air eluded her. She could not breathe. She would die._

_Pain haunted her mind as Valene blinked. Everything was vaguely hazy. The ground, the air, the sky, all had a sickly, brownish-grey pallor that turned her stomach. As her thoughts began to clear, she caught site of a monstrous, twisted shape in the sky, blacker than the deepest night. The Black City. So, this was the fade. Looking around her she saw her path set – the landscape was so twisted and treacherous there was but one way for her to go. Steeling herself, Valene took her first steps into the fade._

_The Black City was constantly visible, but it was not the only eerie aspect. Things that looked like twisted trees thrust out of the ground. Grotesque statues could be seen, cutting against the putrid sky. A sudden shock of pain ran through Valene and she whirled. A small, white ball of light, glowing with electricity and anger was speeding towards her, hovering above the ground. Drawing on the Fade itself, the source of her magic, she cast an ice spell at the ball of light. It dimmed, then winked out of existence. Recalling her training, she could now recognize the light for what it was. A wisp, a spent demon that haunted the fade. Not overly dangerous singly, but deadly in large numbers or acting with the other things that haunted the fade._

_Continuing along the path, Valene encountered more of these wisps, becoming increasingly confident in her abilities. If this is all there is to it, I shall be done in no time, she thought. A sudden roar to her right made her panic. A form made entirely out of fire and shining with hate was rising from the ground itself. Casting an ice spell and a bolt of pure energy weakened it significantly, but it was not enough. Fire erupted from its hands, the heat stinging her face painfully. Struggling to cast the ice spell again, she reached into the depths of her experience and managed to freeze the demon just as it looked ready to consume her. Breathing hard, she gasped in shock as the demon faded away. Shaking her head in disbelief at such strangeness, she steeled herself. She must prevail and continue, or she would die._

_

* * *

Blinking her eyes in pain, Valene raised a hand to shield them from the light shining through the window. It was right on her face, warm, but blinding. Sitting up she groaned. Her entire body felt as though she'd been beaten. She was in her bed, in the apprentice quarters. Had the Harrowing been a dream, then? She remembered everything so clearly, the mouse, the spirit, the sloth demon, the sudden realization of betrayal. No, it was all too vivid, too horrible to be a dream._

_"Valene! You're awake, oh good!" A male voice exclaimed, far too loudly for Valene's tender head._

_Wincing at the loud sound she opened one bleary eye. "Ugh, Jowan, is that you?"_

_"Yes! I saw them bring you back from the Harrowing chamber yesterday at mid-day. You're a real mage now!" Jowan all but chirped._

_"Then that means I'm a mage," Valene grumped, "so I can tell you to stop being so bloody happy and loud!"_

_Jowan ignored her sour mood. "Come on, tell me what it was like? I'm so nervous for mine, I'm sure it will be any day now, if they don't-" He paused. "Well, tell me what it was like."_

_Valene shook her head. "No, I'm not allowed to Jowan. You shall have to simply find out for yourself._

_"And here I hoped catching you as you woke up would make you a little more inclined to let go of the secrets. Ah well, you were always better at following rules than I was." Jowan said with a smirk. "Anywas, I'm really here to tell you that the First Enchanter wishes to see you. There's a Grey Warden here, and I think it may have something to do with that!"_

_Valene rose to her feet slowly, still uncertain if her tender head would allow her any balance. "Alright, I'll get up there. I'll see you later, Jowan. Good luck."_

_As she made her way to the First Enchanter's office once more, she saw Cullen standing in the corridor ahead. "Cullen!" she called, smiling to herself. He looked better this morning, if tired._

_Cullen blinked and jumped at the sound of his name. She IS alive. "V-Valene? Oh Maker, I'm so glad you're alright." He leaned forward as if to move, then stopped suddenly and assumed a rigid posture. His tone became suddenly formal. "Your Harrowing was very quick, very clean. The Circle is very proud of you."_

_Valene wrinkled her brow quizzically. "Thank you. You certainly look better today than you did yesterday. Are you better, then?"_

_Cullen's mouth tightened. "Yes, yesterday was..." He stopped suddenly and sighed. "I was chosen, yesterday. I was chosen to be the one to, to kill you. If you failed." Andraste knows if I could have brought myself to kill you. Of all the mages, why did they select me for you? Do they know?Do you?_

_Valene nodded slowly. That's why he looked like the walking dead. "Well, I'm certainly glad neither of us had to go through that. I've no ill will towards you for it, you have your duties, your oaths."_

_A look of regret crossed Cullen's face and he sighed. "Yes... I do have my oaths." Silence hung between the two for several moments. "But, I suppose you're on your way to see Irving, yes? I'd hate to keep him waiting."_

_Valene nodded. "Of course. Thank you for reminding me. Be well."_

_As Valene disappeared down the corridor, Cullen let out a gasp of panic and began to pray sliently. Maker make me strong, Maker bless me that I may be true, Maker watch over me and steer me from temptation..._

"Valene, I asked you a question. Are you alright?" Duncan asked, arms folded across his chest as he stood, watching Valene intently.

Snapping out of her memories Valene looked up, dazed. "Uh, Duncan, I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Duncan narrowed his eyes, concerned for a moment. He was not so certain he should have taken a mage so fresh from the Harrowing. The previous Grey Warden mage had been unable to decide if the Harrowing or the Joining was more painful, and here he was taking her to complete something that might kill her so soon after she'd been put through that trial. Yet she had proved herself loyal to the Circle at the expense of her friend. She would do what was right, at great cost to her own person. That was as important a quality for a Grey Warden to possess as the skill to survive in battle. She was the right one. Clearing his throat, he tried to appear more calm. "I was just asking if you wanted to stop and rest." Her pale face and tired eyes spoke volumes.

Valene saw the concern cross Duncan's face. _Does he think me disloyal to my friends? Does he wonder if I'll ever have cause to betray him? Maker forgive me, Jowan, but I did what I thought was best. I betrayed you, but your betrayal to Lily and Circle was greater. Repent and find peace._ Valene shook her head, despite the exhaustion that tormented her body as much as her soul. The pain was gone however, replaced by a numbness that left her clumsy, if able to carry on. "No, let us press on. You have said the King needs us. I will not slow you down."

Duncan nodded and began the march towards Ostagar once more, his pace steady and unwavering, if a little slower than it had been before. He couldn't tell if she was stubborn or so lost in her thoughts she could no longer sense her own fatigue. Either way, he would not have her half-dead by the time they arrived.


	2. Chapter 1

"By the Maker." Valene breathed, overwhelmed as Ostagar came into view. She and Duncan looked over the ruins from one of the many vantage points along the steep canyon. Great stone structures, most of them nothing but pillars and half-standing walls, scattered both sides of the canyon. A great bridge, scarred by sieges of battles past spanned the deep chasm. And straight ahead, a giant tower lay against the sky like a sword.

Duncan let out a sigh of relief. _So she's finally woken up, good._ "Impressive, isn't it? Ostagar, and the Tower of Ishal, built by the Tevinter Imperium so long ago. I confess, I did not think this would impress someone raised in the Circle Tower." The faintest hint of a smile curved Duncan's mouth.

Valene blinked and stammered. "W-well, it's just, I mean..." She paused, trying to sort her thoughts before continuing slowly. "That's half of why I'm so impressed. The Tower was never unusual, it was my home. This, however... This great compound on the edge of the wilds, that immense bridge, the depth of the canyon... It's overwhelmingly beautiful," she sighed. The silver-grey stone against the deep green of the forest was beautiful, calming, lovely. She knew there would be a battle here, but for now, there was quiet and peace.

Duncan nodded absently. "Yes, it is an impressive feat. Come, it is not much farther, as you can see. You'll be able to rest tonight."

_If Jowan and Lily's faces would stop haunting me, then you'd be right_. Sighing softly, she took another painful step and promised herself she'd find something practical to wear before the battle.

As Duncan and Valene approached the first vast archway, a tall figure in brilliant golden heavy plate approached them. He was tall, handsome, fair colored and wore an easy smile on his face. "Duncan!" the man exclaimed. "I'm so glad you made it back in time." The men clasped hands and smiled.

"Your majesty, I did not expect you to greet us..." Duncan started. Valene's eyes widened. The king! She felt terrible and likely looked worse, yet here she was, being introduced to the king of Ferelden. The shoes she'd cursed for so long suddenly became a very interesting study as the king turned his gaze to her.

"Well, here I am! And this must be your recruit. A mage of the Tower, eh?" The King's voice was kind, obviously in an attempt to put her at ease. His mere presence counteracted any kindness he could have offered, however and Valene felt herself blush.

Dropping into as deep and proper a curtsey as she could mange, Valene bowed her head and spoke above a whisper. "Y-yes, your majesty. My name is Valene. It's an honor to meet you."

A sudden friendly slap on the shoulder made her stagger. The king was laughing jovially at her formal tone. "No need to be so formal! We'll be together in battle soon and I'll have none of the bowing and scraping everyone tells me is necessary. I'm honored to have another mage fighting and am glad you have decided to become a Grey Warden."

Still unable to meet the king's gaze, Valene settled on staring at his nose. "Of course, your majesty. I'm glad they'll have me." _Maker, this is worse than the Fade_, Valene winced. _The king! And an attractive one at that_. Blushing more deeply, Valene waited quietly while Duncan and the King finished talking. In a few minutes, the king strode off, talking animatedly with the men around him. Valene stared after him and muttered, "Is he _always_ that nice?"

Duncan, hearing her, laughed. "Yes, he is most of the time. It's mostly been a service to him, but I fear he is too optimistic about the upcoming battle." _Too optimistic and stubborn._ Duncan's face turned serious and he turned to lead the way. "This is no simple horde. This is the start of a Blight. That fact alone means we need to get through the Joining as soon as possible. You may rest tonight, but tomorrow morning I expect you to meet me at the Grey Warden encampment. You should be there no later than two hours after sunrise, do you understand?" Duncan asked, pointing across the gorge at one of the many fires burning. Valene nodded, too curious about this Joining to think to ask where the Grey Wardens were. "Good. You will sleep with the mages tonight – the Revered Mother prefers you stay under the watch of Templars as long as possible." Duncan sighed, shaking his head. "As if you could escape if you wanted. Your phylactery binds you, though your honor seems to bind you more tightly than anything. One more thing – there are two other recruits, Daveth and Ser Jory. Feel free to seek them out if you wish, but it is not required. I will require you find Alistair, the newest of the Grey Wardens." Duncan launched into a description that ended with, "And he'll likely be aggravating whoever he can with his usual sense of humor and complete disregard for decorum."

Duncan turned to leave. "Er, Duncan, may I ask about this Joining?" Valene asked shyly. Duncan nodded. "What does it entail?"

Duncan shook his head. "I cannot tell you that just yet. I can only tell you it is the source of our power, it is what makes us who we are. You are no Grey Warden yet, and you will not be unless you undergo this."

"I, I understand, Duncan." _Maker, the Harrowing and now some mysterious Joining? _Even though more than a week had passed, she was still plagued by nightmares. Valene waved goodbye to Duncan. Looking around her, she saw few people in easy sight of her with the fading light. Indulging herself to gawk at the ruins a bit more, she stumbled around the camp. _Maybe one of the mages will heal my feet. Maybe _they_ know where I can get some bloody boots around here._

_

* * *

_

The next day dawned cold. Peering outside her small tent, Valene saw frost covering the ground. The sun was barely over the horizon. Shutting the flap against the cold, she clumsily started to dress. The night before she'd gone to the quartermaster and managed to procure comfortable leather boots (a bit too big), gauntlets, and a set of studded leather armor that was tighter across the chest than she was used to. _Better than flouncing about in skirts, though. I wonder why the Templars do that_. Pulling on a set of thick stockings and her leather boots, Valene smiled in delight. Wynne, one of the senior enchanters and here at the king's request, had healed her feet, aches and much of her fatigue before assisting her in finding proper equipment. The other mages insisted on keeping their robes, but Wynne agreed with Valene – armor was more likely to be needed for a mage among the Grey Wardens, than the mages that would be behind several divisions of men, casting spells in relative safety. With the healing and new clothing, Valene felt like a new woman. The night had been blessedly free of the dreams that had plagued her with guilt. In the end, she knew Jowan and Lily and chosen their own path, defying law, community and oaths. She had chosen hers. Carefully folding up her bedroll and robes, Valene secured them with packing straps and slung them over her shoulder. A templar glowered at her as she left the camp, but did not follow. She stopped by one of the various cook fires and grabbed a few hot biscuits and a steaming bowl of mush. The mush was tasteless, but filling, but the biscuits were good, if in want of butter. Full and satisfied, Valene decided to explore the camp.

The camp was busy, even early in the morning, and archers were practicing with straw targets at a far corner of the camp. Various soldier groups kept to themselves, repairing or cleaning armor and swords. Valene simply walked the camp, taking it all on, mapping it in her head. An hour after the sun had been up she came across the Grey Warden encampment. Duncan wasn't there, and no one else around the fire knew who she was. Veering off to an unexplored part of camp, a snippet of strained conversation caught her ear.

"The Revered Mother desires your presence, Ser Mage." The first voice sounded like a younger man, nervous. Valene turned to see a mage and someone meeting Duncan's description of Alistair facing one another. _There's something familiar about that jaw... and that nose_. Valene vaguely recognized the mage as one of the senior enchanters who constantly chaffed at the Chantry's control. _Oh, this is going to be good_, she thought, with a wry smirk. She crept closer as the men talked.

"What her Reverence desires is of no concern! I am helping the Grey Warden's by command of the _king_." The mage sneered. Alistair, if that was him, shot the mage a sarcastic look.

"What, you want a note from the woman?" he said, folding his arms and grinning.

"I will not be harassed this way!" the mage fumed, obviously angered by the Revered Mother's request.

"Yes," Alistair shot back. "I'm harassing _you_ by delivering a message." Valene let out a laugh. _Well, at least he isn't intimidated by mages like most people outside of the Tower_.

The mage threw his hands up in disgust. "Fine. I will see her if I must." He strode past Alistair, nearly running over him. "Just get out of my way, fool," he growled as he strode off.

Alistair turned a wry eye to Valene. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings everyone together."

Valene raised an eyebrow. _Ah, Duncan wasn't kidding about his irreverence_. "Have a problem with mages, do you?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, no. Revered Mother hunted me down and sent me on purpose. I was training to be a Templar when Duncan recruited me and I think she knew it would just annoy the mage more if I asked him to come to her. Duncan said we're all supposed to get along, but I'm guessing we're the _only_ ones getting that speech."

Looking at him quizzically, Valene asked "And how do you know which set of "we" I belong to?" _What's so familiar about his face?_

Alistair's mouth twitched as he tried to keep a straight face. _I may not have taken vows, but I'm enough of a Templar to know a rogue mage when I see one_. "If you're a Circle mage and not the recruit Duncan told me about, the Templars would've skinned you alive before letting you run around in armor. You're much easier to track when you're in those bright robes, you know."

Valene blushed, annoyed he'd turned things back on her so easily. "Well then, it's just _lovely_ to meet you as well, isn't it?"

_Aww, she blushes! Maybe they'll make fun of _her_ for a while, give me some peace. _"Charmed, I'm certain," Alistair responded dryly. "I have to admit, I was surprised when Duncan told me you were a woman. The Grey Wardens have never had very many women, I wonder why that is..."

Valene raised her eyebrows. "Oh? You find yourself wanting more women, do you?" _And now it's _your_ turn to blush_, she thought triumphantly.

_Maker, why must all women be so wicked?!_ "Well yes, but not in that way, I'm not some drooling lecher." Alistair bumbled his words, visibly flustered as color crept into his cheeks. "Please stop looking at me like that?" _Damn, I can forget the teasing stopping. Maker, it's probably going to get _worse.

Grinning, Valene cocked her head slightly. "Well, we should get to Duncan before it's too late. I'm sure traveling with you will be... interesting." _There, let him figure out that one._

Alistair looked at her uncertainly. "Riiiight, _interesting_. I'm sure it will be just fantastic." As Valene turned towards the Grey Warden encampment, Alistair paused a moment to watch her go. _Did Duncan do this to torment me? Surely that's not the _only_ reason he picked her. She has to be competent. _He sighed and followed the young mage, trying not to stare. _I have to imagine it was a perk, though._

_

* * *

_

Valene pushed the stopper into the small glass vial, studying it in disgust. "And that makes three." A thick, black liquid filled the vial: darkwspawn blood. Duncan said it was needed for the Joining. The darkspawn were hideous, terrifying, yet she found herself relishing the battles. She was not shut up in a Tower, studying theories and instructing other caged creatures, she was free to do some good in the world. She'd never resented the Tower, she owed all she was to it, and yet she could not ignore the feelings of freedom and relief she felt in scouring the wilds for darkspawn to kill. She carefully wiped off the exterior of the vial with the darkspawn's tattered clothes. One of the larger ones, harder to kill, but easier to get the right amount of blood out of. Alistair had called them Hurlocks, while the runty ones were Genlocks. Not that they didn't bleed when stabbed, but most of them seemed obliged to spill every last drop whenever stabbed. All of them were covered in varying amounts of darkspawn blood. Ser Jory looked at her uneasily. She couldn't figure out if he was unsettled by her relative calm or by the fact she was a mage. _Maybe both? The man seems awfully cowardly for a knight, not to mention a Grey Warden_. Daveth seemed like he had more potential to be a good Warden, though she promised herself that if he continued to leer he'd find something dear to him connecting with her knee. Standing up from her crouch, she turned her gaze to Alistair. "Any more close by?"

He shook his head. "Not unless you count the main horde, no. We're safe from them for now. I don't sense more than three or four in the direction of the ruins, either. We should hurry. It's mid-day and we need to get back by late afternoon." Alistair glanced at his map and frowned. _I keep opening it up wrong and getting lost_. Grumbling to himself, he turned it one way, then the other. Suddenly, Valene was by his side.

"We're here. We passed that narrow neck a ways back, which means the map turns this way. Ruins are due west," she said, nodding off in the distance.

_Well, isn't _that_ handy_. "Right, I was getting to that. Well, I'm not here to lead you, I'm here to make sure you don't stumble into hundreds of hungry darkspawn, lead the way." Alistair heard Ser Jory whimper behind him. _Ha, at least she's braver than that coward. He swings a sword well enough, even if he does get all pale and shaky afterwards._

Valene set off, keeping an eye on the constantly changing land. It was hard to not get muddy, but avoiding water wasn't impossible. She found that neither Daveth nor Ser Jory wished to lead, so she'd taken it upon herself. Alistair claimed he wasn't there to pamper them, and perhaps he was right, though she wasn't entirely certain she entrusted him to find his way around with the map. He had a fine sense of direction without one, to be sure, but place one in front of him and it was as though he'd magically appeared where he was, with no clue as to where or what direction the sun set. Valene's foot caught on a mud-covered branch and she started to fall forward. A hand caught her before she fell, though. Straightening, she let out a few words of thanks.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I have no problem helping lovely women. Though I certainly wouldn't turn down a reward." It was Daveth, staring at her with a wolfish grin, continuing his relentless pursuit of any excuse to touch or talk to her.

Valene gave him a flat stare. "Next time, let me fall. It will teach me to pay more attention." _I'll hurt you if you try it again. _

Daveth just laughed to himself. _Ah, they're more fun when they resist. She seems too proper to try any spells on me. Or is she?_ He suddenly grew quiet. It was certainly something he hadn't considered before. He began to consider that this conquest wasn't worth the risk of being coated in ice. He'd seen her do that to more than a few darkspawn and it looked decidedly unpleasant. As did that big bloody rock that appeared out of thin air, slamming into bodies hard enough to hear the bones crunch twenty paces away. And it was always followed by that awful squish. _Well, there are plenty of women back at camp who'd be much more susceptible to my charms and not at all likely to turn me into stone or ice or whatever else she has up her sleeve. After this Joining, I'll try my luck there. _With a grin, Daveth continued on, lost in thought as he tried to decide between one of the girls tending the mage's camp and a particularly pretty one working the infirmary.

* * *

Valene approached Duncan as he stood watching the flames of the bonfire. "Duncan?" The Grey Warden turned, his eyes sad and thoughtful. The camp was nearly deserted. Most of the men had moved down to the canyon, forming lines, and it seemed all but two of the Grey Wardens had joined them.

"It is done then? You have the blood and the treaties?" Duncan asked brusquely.

"Yes, Duncan. A wilder woman and her mother were in possession of them. They said the seals had worn off long ago, and they had protected them." Valene handed over the vials and the documents. The women had been very strange, and the daughter's eyes were downright haunting. The daughter's choice of clothing had made all three of the men blush or stammer between their accusations of witches.

"Very well, the rest that is needed for the Joining is complete. Follow me." Turning, Duncan quickly strode away, to a corner of the ruins that had stood empty amid the bustle that morning. It was even quieter tonight. _It seems the Grey Wardens do not wish to be disturbed in this._

As they approached a small area where most of the walls were standing, Valene saw Duncan remove the lids from each of the vials. A large chalice stood on a weather-worn pedestal. Each vial was emptied into it, and Duncan used one of the empty vials to stir the contents. Duncan turned around and nodded to Alistair. "As the newest of the Grey Wardens, you have the duty. The words are few, but they have been said since the beginning." Alistair nodded, and he and Duncan grew still and grim.

Alistair's voice spoke softly, reverently, his words clear in the calm night air. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you." _Maker, let them live. Let them _all _live. Ferelden needs the Grey Wardens now more than ever._

Ser Jory looked around, nervous. Valene knew he had an expectant wife back in Highever. Duncan reached for the chalice, holding it reverently in both hands. "Daveth, you shall go first." Daveth nodded and stepped forward. For all the man's leering and interest in women, Valene could not find a trace of fear in his body. Earlier he had admitted he'd do anything, go through anything, if it would stop the Blight. _You have my respect, Daveth_, Valene thought as she watched, eyes wide with anticipation and horror. Taking a drink from the chalice, he handed it back to Duncan. The night was deadly still for a moment, the only sound the slight scrape of metal on stone as Duncan replaced the chalice. Suddenly, Daveth gasped and clutched at his throat. His eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped to his knees. Struggling in vain to breathe, his body contorted, writhing as the tainted blood rushed into him. Valene stood transfixed, wondering if he would survive.

Duncan already knew he would not. _One lost. Is it the Blight or merely his bad luck?_ "I am sorry, Daveth." _I truly am_. Turning to the knight, he spoke once more, his voice as steady as the first time. "Ser Jory, it is your turn."

Jory protested. "No, I have a wife, we're expecting a child, if I had known, I never would have..." He tried to back away, but a stone wall lay right behind him. There was no escape.

Duncan's face grew angry, cold. "You must partake of this, Jory. There is no turning back." _You promised. You must submit yourself_.

Jory panicked and drew his greatsword, his face screaming desperation and disbelief. "No, this isn't right!" Jory swung his sword at Duncan, too stunned to think. Alistair surged forward, ready to fight. Duncan's dagger was out in a heartbeat, deflecting the great sword, before plunging into Ser Jory's belly. His blood flowed over his arm, glistening wetly in the moonlight. In the dark it looked as black as the darkspawn blood had been.

"I am sorry, Jory." Duncan whispered hoarsely. He twisted the dagger and withdrew it. Jory sank to the ground, groaned once, and lay still. Wiping off and sheathing his dagger, Duncan stood, face as cold and hard as a statue. The chalice was in his hands once more, this time his arms outstretched towards Valene. "Valene, it is your turn."

Stepping forward, Valene steeled herself. She would be dead or she would be a Warden. Taking the chalice from Duncan, she raised it to her lips. The bitter smell burned her nostrils, making her want to gag, but she drank. The liquid was foul, oily and full of magic and the taint. The lyrium sang to her as it had in the Harrowing chamber, but this song was dark and sinister, there was none of the allure she had found in it before. She felt it slide down her throat and coat her stomach as she handed the chalice back to Duncan. Revulsion filled her as the taint of the darkspawn crept into her blood. The pain hit her suddenly, pain as intense as the day of the Harrowing. Her head surged with visions of darkspawn, hundreds of them, all of them thirsting for human blood. Shaking her head, she struggled to draw breath. More pain now, burning every fiber of her. A great dragon, black as the blood of the darkspawn themselves filled her mind, its terrible mouth opening as it bellowed a war cry of hate and destruction. As darkness overwhelmed her, Valene felt herself falling and heard one thing through the darkness and the pain: "Welcome, Sister."

Alistair stared at the mage as he crouched by her. She had survived, but she had not yet woken up. He had caught her as she fell. She'd feel bad enough when she woke up without adding a cracked head to the list. He shuddered, remembering Daveth and Jory. _I knew Duncan could do that, but I never expected it to be necessary_... Alistair shook his head. No, it was not worth thinking on that for now. Duncan did what he had to, as all Grey Wardens must. _In death, sacrifice_. A small groan broke the silence. Duncan turned and crouched down over the prone form.

Valene fluttered her eyelashes open, the fuzzy faces of Duncan and Alistair floating in her vision. "You are one of us, now." Duncan said, standing and helping Valene to her feet. Valene swayed unsteadily for a moment before finally standing still.

"Only one died at my Joining," whispered Alistair. One out of four wasn't exactly flying colors, but it was better than two out of three.

Duncan turned a cold stare to Alistair that made him shiver. "We do what we must. Valene, I will be meeting with the king and Teryn Loghain at the war council. I expect you there within an hour." Turning on one foot he strode off into the dark. _Maker forgive me, but I must be cold. This _is_ a Blight_.

Finding himself alone with the woman, Alistair briefly panicked. _Right, now you can just, you know offer words of encouragement. _He thought to himself_. Let's see, should it be, "You've got about thirty years to live from today!" or "Get ready to have nightmares like you won't believe! Don't worry, they'll go away in a month. Or three."_ Yes, all the cheerful things about being a Grey Warden. Well, he could always tell her after something good happened. After the battle was won and the rest of the Grey Wardens were here. Maybe one of _them_ could pass on those lovely bits of news. Straightening, Alistair's stomach rumbled loudly. "Right, well, I'm going to see what food I can find before I eat a tree. War council is over there," he pointed over his shoulder, "And I'll be over that way," he pointed again, this time gesturing towards the Kings tent. A confused look from Valene brought a grin from him. "Best food is always going to be around the nobility. Just don't take advantage of me telling you my secret."

Valene nodded as she watched him disappear into the dark. _Well, I suppose it's no worse treatment that followed my Harrowing. The elder walks off with a summons to see him later while I get pestered by someone far too happy for the way I'm feeling_. Valene didn't feel weak, but she did feel as though she'd been irreversibly sullied. The Taint was in her now, and she remembered the taste of the blood as it passed her lips. The memory made her nauseous and she ran to the nearest bush to empty her stomach. Once she'd finished retching, she wiped her mouth and stopped as a realization hit her. It was only bile. Her body had absorbed every last bit of blood and now it coursed through her. She was Tainted.


	3. Chapter 2

Valene ran, breathing hard as she struggled up the final flight of stairs. She, Alistair and one of the surviving guards were behind her. They hadn't thought to meet any resistance, and Duncan had returned the treaties to her for safe-keeping. The Tower of Ishal had been filled with darkspawn, however, and the signal was undoubtedly late. They were nearly to the top now, and she was certain they could light the signal in time, they just had to – Valene and her companions froze. An immense darkspawn lay between them and the signal. She heard a crunch and saw blood spurt – the creature was feeding. She shuddered in revulsion.

Alistair cursed himself for not warning her. He knew something big lay ahead, and the only really big somethings that were darkspawn were ogres. _Well, besides the archdemon, but that would've been a bit more obvious._ He could feel the ogre and a wave of realization hit him. It had started to sense him. "Valene, watch out!" he yelled, rushing forward to distract the beast as it turned to face them.

Valene watched in horror as Alistair rushed into the room, shouting. She realized what he was doing, but she wasn't sure how much good it would do her. The guard at her side looked at her, and whispered "This depends on you. Kill it!" before running into the fray. Hands trembling, Valene took her staff and cast her first first spell coated the creature in ice, though its strength broke through almost instantly. It was slowed, however, and Valene readied herself as Alistair hacked at the thing's leg before leaping away. This time she called on stone, conjuring an enormous ball of it and flinging it at the beast with all her might. The towering darkspawn swung at Alistair again, barely missing him, before turning towards her. The guardsman stood between them. He cried out to distract it and the creature reared back to swing a massive hand. Its fist connected with the guardsman's head. She watched horror as the head bounced, landing with a squelch. Gritting her teeth, she screamed at Alistair "Get away, NOW!" before calling on herself to throw a ball of fire.

Alistair watched helplessly as the ogre turned toward his fellow warden. The guardsmen provided a momentary distraction, but the ogre's course was set. As he heard Valene's warning, something in his mind forced his legs to move, forced him to run away from her. He felt stupid and cowardly for doing so, but he knew he had to trust her. A sudden explosion and the feel of heat against his back confirmed his trust. _Andraste's flaming sword, that could have killed me!_ It hadn't killed the ogre, but it was wounded now, a sizeable chunk of its massive thigh was missing, and the few bits of fabric covering it were on fire. Letting out a roar of rage, the creature charged towards Valene. Alistair ran towards the ogre again, praying he'd make it in time.

Valene was running as well, attempting to evade the angry monster. She had been nearly against the wall, and she was forced to run to the side, her course bringing her closer to the darkspawn. The sound of jingling armor reassured her. _I didn't kill him!_ The thought gave her a twinge of relief, before she redoubled her efforts. She could feel her magic ability returning and sprinted until she was as far away as she could be from the constantly moving target. She cast one more spell, covering the creature in ice again. The slow in momentum was just enough. Alistair had caught up and the darkspawn stumbled as it broke through the ice, falling to one knee. Alistair jumped into the air. Valene stared in wonder as he drove his sword into the creature's back. The beast fell, writhing in pain. Alistair pulled out his sword, driving it in again, striking further up. Again and again, he stabbed the creature as it writhed under his blows until its labored breaths and cries stopped. Wrenching his sword from the carcass for the last time, he turned to her, his face and armor covered in darkspawn blood. "Light the signal, now!"

Valene ran to the signal pyre, setting it alight with a small burst of flame. The flame caught and the fire went rushing into the air. She and Alistair rushed to the window, relieved to see the Teryn's men still in position. They turned to each other a moment, faces jubilant, before turning their gazes to the battle. They had been late, but not so late as to-

"No!" Alistair cried, his voice cracking with anger and confusion. "No, advance, advance you bloody bastard! We lit the flaming signal!" _You're supposed to be Ferelden's greatest general, attack!_

Valene stared in shock as she realized the source of Alistair's anguish. The Teryn was retreating, drawing his men away from the battle. "But, the signal. Can he not see it? It's lit!" _Maker, no, don't abandon them all or they'll die!_

"The other Grey Wardens, we have to get there, we must –" Alistair was cut off by the bang of the door. Both of them whirled just in time to see a dozen darkspawn surge through the opening. Alistair drew his sword and let out a cry of unholy rage. Valene gripped her staff, ready to cast a spell, when the first jolt of pain ripped through her.

Hunching over, Valene trembled, struggling to cast a spell. A small ball of stone erupted from the end of her staff and thumped into a darkspawn, breaking something with a satisfying crunch, but not killing the creature. Another jolt. Gasping, she struggled to concentrate as the feel of warm blood began to coat the inside of her armor. Glancing around wildly she caught sight of Alistair. He'd dispatched three, and was well on his way to killing a fourth, but there were more surging behind the ones already blocking the door. Struggling to stay on her knees she focused her staff one more time, directing all of her anger and hurt into a single bolt of energy aimed at a hurlock charging for Alistair's back. The creature shuddered and fell. A third arrow slammed into her, this time hitting her chest. Time slowed as she felt the arrow nick bone and rip through her lung. Blood bubbled up around the arrow. Panic engulfed her as she struggled to breathe, her left lung sending waves of pain through her. The taste of blood crept into her mouth as she sank to the floor, eyes transfixed as she watched the life ebb out of her. Each breath she took caused the blood to bubble around the shaft. She felt her hands grow cold as more blood ran from the wound. She lifted her eyes one last time, watching as Alistair was struck down by the edge of a darkspawn shield. Collapsing, Valene tried to cry, but only blood came from her mouth. The world went dark.

* * *

Alistair waited outside the hut in the Korcari wilds, staring at the swamp in disbelief. _They're dead... all of them are dead. The king, Duncan, Valene, every last Grey Warden in Ferelden but me_. Sure, the old woman claimed Valene would live, but he remembered his last sight of her before the shield hit him, knocking him unconscious. He'd seen three arrows sticking out of her body, and she'd been covered in so much blood he'd initially mistaken her for the body of the dead guard. Morrigan, however, claimed she'd had _six_ arrows by the time they were rescued. _No one can lose that much blood and live, no one can survive that_. Dark thoughts, darker days. The Teryn had left the king to die, the Blight was upon them and he was the last Grey Warden in Ferelden. Even if he had the strength or will to carry on, he didn't have the slightest clue as to what he should do. He didn't know where to find other Grey Wardens, unless he went North, or West, and even then, he'd just know that Grey Wardens were somewhere, not exactly where they might be found.

"Quit your fretting, young man, she'll live, I told you. Now she just needs rest." The woman's sudden comment made Alistair jump. She fixed her gaze on him, her eyes telling him she thought he was a fool. He wasn't going to take the bait.

"Yes, well, I'm just not used to people _resting_ for three days. Forgive me my apprehension." Alistair tried not to snip at her, but waiting in this dreary forest for a dead woman had him on edge. Morrigan and her mother barely spoke to him. He knew he should be more grateful, that he should be kissing their feet, to be honest, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. _She should have left me to die with Valene_, he thought, bitterly. _That would've been better than lingering like this._ Alistair sighed to himself and turned his gaze back to the swamp. _Not that I have anywhere to go. Everything I know is dead._

The old woman's eyes held him. She needed the other one alive. This one would play his part, but the mage, she was needed to lead. This one was too broken in spirit, and not much of a leader. Sighing, Flemeth turned towards the hut. She could feel a change.

Valene raged, swinging her staff as she flashed lightning from the end, catching every nearby darkspawn in the bolts. Their bodies shuddered as the light scourged them. Tossing back a small lyrium potion, she felt her connection to the Fade deepen. _Come, for I shall kill you all_, she thought, triumphant and certain. It was then she felt the earth move beneath her feet. She fell to the ground, rolling over quickly, ready to cast once more. The great dragon she had seen the night of her Joining stood in front of her. It opened its jaws and let forth a wicked purple flame that quenched her magic as surely as a bucket of water quenches a candle. She was helpless. The dragon howled in triumph and lowered its head. Valene saw her death. The archdemon lowered its head, its putrid breath reaching her. Taking her in its jaws the archdemon closed its mouth. Time seemed to slow. Writhing, Valene tried to call on any spell to save herself. Nothing. One by one, the archdemon's foul teeth slid into her flesh.

The vigor and power she had felt in her dream were gone, but so was the pain. Her eyes were closed, every muscle stiff with disuse. Wincing, Valene did her best to stretch and move. Her muscles responded only slightly. "Oh, you're awake. Mother shall be pleased."

_That voice, I know that voice_. Valene struggled to open her eyes. Vivid eyes, the color of the moon were transfixed on her own. It was Morrigan, the woman from the woods, the wilder who had revealed her mother protected the Warden's treaties. "Where am I? What happened?" Strugging to push herself up, Valene tried not to blush as the blankets fell away to reveal her nakedness. Glancing down at her body she noticed only a few pink patches of new skin where she remembered the arrows piercing. The pink patches and the reddish tinge to her skin were the only evidence of the horror of Ostagar.

"Oh, that. 'Tis Mother's tale to tell. She will be pleased that you are alive. As will your... friend." Morrigan's mouth twisted in distaste. She had no positive feelings for the other Grey Warden. He seemed so weak, so unwilling to do what must be done. _Well, I can't expect _all _Grey Wardens to be clever, can I?_

"My friend? Alistair? He lives?" Valene gasped, wondering that both should survive. _I saw him fall, all those darkspawn around him..._

"Yes, if you mean the stupid, dim-witted one. He is not taking things well." Morrigan laughed in her head_. Not taking things well is an understatement. He looks ready to lay down and die at any moment. Not that it would be a great loss._

"Thank you. I am truly grateful for my life, as well as his." Valene looked at Morrigan, hoping she could convey the level of gratitude she felt.

Morrigan blinked. The mage was grateful and seemed heartfelt in her thanks. Morrigan nodded, nervous. She had never been around other humans very often and did not know what to say. "Yes, well, 'twas mostly my mother. At any rate, your clothes are over there, or at least what is left of them. Your armor is clean, but you'll need new before long. Armor with half a dozen holes in it is hardly any use."

Now it was Valene's turn to blink. _Half a dozen? I only remember three..._ Pushing the covers off, Valene swung her legs off the bed, testing them slowly. The wilder woman was staring at her still, and Valene tried to pretend she was with the other apprentices in the Tower. _She's a woman, she's seen something like it before._ Not that Morrigan had any shame of her own. The woman's dress exposed most of her bosom and almost all of her back. Valene groaned slightly as she stood. Ever muscle was sore, but the flesh felt whole and her breaths felt easy. Dressing as quickly as she could, Valene ventured more questions. "Your mother saved us, then?"

Morrigan nodded. "Yes, I'm not surprised you don't remember it. You were almost dead, and your friend won't believe you're alive until you walk out that door." Morrigan's face didn't conceal her disdain for Alistair's attitude.

Struggling to pull her boot on properly, Valene took the hint, not bothering to strap the boot. Pulling the other one on as best she could, she gestured to Morrigan. "I am ready, shall we go outside?"

Morrigan laughed. "Oh no, _we_ shall do no such thing. _I_ shall stay in here and make a stew. _You_ shall go and talk with my mother. _I don't want to be around that other fool Warden any longer than I must_, Morrigan thought to herself. This one wasn't as bad, though Morrigan felt a wave of revulsion sweep through her any time she thought of being locked away in a tower, guarded by people trained to kill those born with your gift.

"Very well. Thank you again, Morrigan." Valene took a deep breath and opened the door. Sunlight spilled into the hut for a brief moment before it shut again.

Morrigan shook her head. Even knowing her mother's immense power and expertise, she still could not believe the mage lived. _Mother feared for her death_. The thought struck Morrigan suddenly. She had never known Flemeth to fear anything. The thought chilled her. Morrigan shivered and turned to the fire.

* * *

Alistair heard the door swing open. He hunched his shoulders, waiting for Morrigan's acidic tongue to taunt him for his despair once , it was her mother's voice that broke the silence once more. "See? Here is your fellow Warden. Ha! I told you she would live!" Morrigan's mother sounded particularly pleased with herself.

Alistair whirled around in disbelief. A brief worry of trickery crossed his mind, but all thoughts fled when he saw his fellow Grey Warden. She was pale, and obviously weakened, but she lived. The Maker seemed to have answered his prayers after all. Alistair rose from the rock he had used as perch so quickly he nearly tripped over himself. "Valene, you're alright! I thought you were dead for sure... Both of us would be dead, were it not for Morrigan's mother."

Valene nodded as the old wilder woman spoke. "I'm right here, boy. Don't speak of me as if I'm not."

Alistair found his temper flaring. "Well, dear lady," he intoned, voice seething with anger, "if you had deigned me worthy of knowing your name before now, I promise I would have spoken it."

"You may call me Flemeth. And before you ask, I did not want to repeat myself." Flemeth grinned wickedly as she saw Alistair wrestle with his emotions. _The boy does struggle... But it is his emotion that made him remain._

Valene nodded her head. "Thank you, Flemeth. I owe you my life. It is a debt I can never repay." She wasn't certain where those stoic words had come from, but they seemed right.

Flemeth shrugged to conceal her relief. _Two Grey Wardens are better than one. They can stop this Blight together... perhaps. But they will surely fail alone._ "Oh, a debt? Well, I can already think of how you can repay me for my kindness. You can be Grey Wardens. Stop the Blight."

_Ooh, that simple is it? "Stop the Blight!" Just like that, then we can go home for tea._ Alistair found his momentary elation at Valene's survival quickly soured by Flemeth's flippancy. Clearing his throat, he began. "Look, we lost half an army at Ostagar, one that we needed to fight the darkspawn. Loghain's betrayal must be brought to justice or Ferelden will not stand against the Blight. We could go to Arl Eamon, in Redcliffe. It's probably a week's march from here, keeping a good pace. He was Cailin's uncle and he still has his men. He would listen to us."

Flemeth kept her haughty expression, trying not to let her surprise. _Ha, so there is a brain in this one. Morrigan won't be too pleased when she figures that out._ "And what of your treaties? Do you still have them?"

Just as Alistair began to shake his head, Valene stepped forward. "I do. Duncan returned them to me for safe-keeping at the War Council. He didn't want them lost in battle or left in camp. He thought we would be safe." Valene had glanced at them briefly. There were three separate treaties, each one containing a pledge of assistance from a different group: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar and the mages of the Circle of Ferelden. "We can request help by presenting these treaties. I think requesting aid from these groups, along with Arl Eamon, if he will listen, will give us a chance to defend Ferelden."

Alistair's mouth tightened. Thinking of Duncan pained him, but realizing he had trusted the new recruit with something so important wounded him. _I thought he trusted me_. _I guess I really _am_ just the unreliable idiot everyone says I am_. Alistair lost himself in thought. He should have been with Duncan, he should have died with the rest of them. He never would have had to go through this pain and heartbreak if he had simply died. The Mage was obviously good enough to take care of herself. _Even Duncan saw that_, he thought bitterly. _He probably just sent me to keep the king's bastard out of battle in case Cailin's stupidity got him killed. Which it _did. Morrigan's sudden protest brought him back to the matter at hand.

"What? Mother, this is hardly how I wanted this, I am NOT ready!" Morrigan's voice was steady, but the pitch had climbed much higher than her usual low tones.

"Bah. You'll be fine girl. They'll need a guide out of the Wilds and beyond that you'll be useful as well." Flemeth looked supremely satisfied. _Not to mention you'll grow more powerful than you would sitting here._

"Thank you, Flemeth," Valene replied cautiously. "I'm sure she'll be of great help to us." Valene wasn't sold on the idea and she had a nagging feeling Alistair wouldn't be all that happy about it, but what could they do? Flemeth had saved both of their lives and if these would ease the debt, so be it. Morrigan hardly seemed incompetent, either.

"Wait, won't she just cause more trouble, you know, being an apostate outside the Wilds and all?" Alistair couldn't believe Valene was accepting this. Morrigan would torment him until he lost his wits completely.

"Alistair, we need all the help we can get. And besides, we're Grey Wardens. She'll be safe travelling with us. We can always claim the right of conscription if someone gets too keen on killing her." Valene hoped that was, the case, anyways.

_Great, now we get to lie about having her along on purpose. And pretend we want her with us_. He raised his hands to protest then let them fall. "Fine. We're leaving now, I take it?" Valene turned to Flemeth. "This may sound silly, but do you know what became of my pack or staff?"

Flemeth gestured towards the hut. "Everything's there, girl. I put in some health poultices and food for you last night. I don't want all my effort going to waste." Flemeth fixed Morrigan with a strange look. It definitely wasn't one of motherly affection, but there was pride in it. "Do try and have fun, dear."

As they set off down the path, leaving Flemeth's hut behind them, Alistair couldn't help but sigh. Not only had he lost Duncan and the Grey Wardens, he'd somehow... _gained_ Morrigan. _Sort of like gaining a rash on your ass right after losing use of your arms._ _Flemeth should have left me where I lay._


	4. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: There is no and will be no dog. I didn't want to write him in. With dialogue, I'm mostly coming up with original while attempting to remain true to the NPC personalities, though there are some lines by Bioware far too good to leave out. For those wondering, I plan on doing the scope of the entire game, though I will not go through every small scene in gory detail. I haven't yet decided what I'll do as far as DLC. I realize the first scene in this may seem out of order, but you can go to camp and before Lothering in the game, and you have this conversation. Thanks for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome._

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* * *

_

Valene was worried. It had been three days since they had left Flemeth's hut and each one brought nightmares that left her speechless. Alistair remained silent, despondent and barely responsive to any of her questions. Night was falling again and they would need to stop for camp soon. Morrigan claimed they'd arrive in Lothering shortly, but that it would likely be best to enter in the morning. Valene agreed it at least be less suspicious, but she hated the thought of another night with nothing but the horrible dreams of darkspawn awaiting her. The lack of sleep was wearing at her, but not as much as the responsibility of leading. She knew going to the mage tower for assistance would be easiest. They would go there first. Beyond that, however... She knew almost nothing of the Dalish or dwarves. And if Alistair didn't snap out of his depression, convincing Arl Eamon they had a cause worth fighting for would be hopeless.

An enormous spider, slightly larger than a mabari scuttled up to Valene. She suppressed a shudder as she watched the form twist back into Morrigan. "There is an excellent camping spot over here. 'Tis almost surrounded by water, but the land is high and dry. There is dead brush that will make excellent tinder. I shall lay down protective wards so we can all get some sleep." Valene just nodded and motioned for Morrigan to lead the way.

Visions roared into Valene's head. Hundreds of darkspawn marched down a chasm, all of them armed with swords, pikes or maces. The faces of each was twisted into a hideous smile, they're skeletal faces frozen in a look of putrid joy. The cry of the archdemon rang out in her head. It called to them. She could not understand what it said, or what it meant, but she could feel the darkspawn respond. They answered the dragon's call with a surge of happy rage and nothing could stop them.

Alistair watched as Valene tossed fitfully in her sleep. They hadn't bothered to set up tents that night, knowing they'd only be there a few hours. He hadn't been able to sleep tonight. _Strange, considering the last few days have been a stupor. I hardly know what's going on_. While helping stoke the fire he'd resolved to at least try. Duncan would have wanted that; Duncan deserved at least that. The mage let out a small sob and sat up, wiping her eyes as her chest heaved, struggling to take in the fresh night air.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked quietly. She seemed not to hear him. _Maker, here she is new and unknowing and I didn't even warn her about the nightmares. She must think she's going crazy._ "Valene?" he asked again, raising his voice slightly. She turned and looked at him, her face haggard. "You're having nightmares aren't you?"

Valene nodded, shaking her head. "It just seems so real..." She trailed off, her face pale.

Alistair sighed. "It is real, in a way. We can sense the darkspawn, they can sense us, and another side effect is being privy to their minds. The nightmares you're having, you're hearing them. You learn to tune it out eventually, and some of the older Wardens claimed they could understand them. I can't, but who knows?" The thought of understanding the darkspawn, much less the archdemon, made his stomach turn.

Valene looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "You mean, that's real? That's the archdemon, speaking to them? In my _head_?" _Maker, this is unholy. This is wrong. I'm worse than an abomination; I'm forever linked with those creatures._ Valene wasn't sure if the truth was better than the fear that she'd started to go insane. Alistair watched her, quiet. Trying to steady her breathing, Valene whispered, "Can I stop them? Can I do anything?"

Alistair could see the pain on her face. The nightmares had only lasted a few weeks for him, but that had been in the comfort of the Denerim compound. "Some are more sensitive than others, but with time most learn to stop them from creeping into your mind. It's supposed to be worse for those during a Blight, but I suppose your mage training will come in useful. I know you're familiar with the Fade. Your mind matters most there, from what I was taught in my Templar training, though I'm sure you know more. Just try and will yourself defenses before you go to sleep. It may take a while to work, but the nightmares should lessen with each night." He hoped this would work for her. He'd drawn on the concentration and discipline he'd learned as a Templar to help overcome his. True, the occasional glimpse of the archdemon would glare through his mind, but it was nothing like the beginning. He hadn't had the archdemon to contend with at the start, however, not until the last two months.

Valene nodded. _That makes sense, I suppose. The Fade _can_ be manipulated that way, even when you're in it as lightly as you are in a dream, as long as you stay alert_. "Thank you. It's good to know I don't have to have those dreams the rest of my life."

_Not that your lifespan is going to be very long or that you'll be able to stop them before the end, but another time for that_. "Some do, but they're just as rare as the ones who never have problems."

Valene realized this was the first she'd heard out of Alistair since they'd left Flemeth's hut. Morrigan was sleeping far away from either of them. She'd made her own fire, mentioning something about Alistair's hygiene. In truth, no one's was any worse or better than the other's. They washed what they could when they could, and he couldn't help it if his sweat stunk more than theirs. Valene looked across the fire at her fellow Warden. There was still the sadness there.

"Alistair, are you alright?" Valene's voice was soft. She didn't want to push him back into the darkness he'd been hiding in for the last few days.

Her concern touched Alistair. He'd been so wrapped up in himself he'd hardly realized the difficulty she'd been having. _And yet she still worries about me_. He wanted to hold back, but his emotions broke forth and he found himself moving beside her. "I, no. I'm not." Tears stung his eyes. "Duncan, he saved me. He was a father to me. He was everything. I only knew him a few months, but he and the other Wardens were more of a family to me than anything in the rest of my life before it. I know I shouldn't have fallen apart in all this, but I lost everything that mattered there." Alistair cringed as he realized what he'd just said. He sounded like an ungrateful fool, pining over the dead while he was lucky to be alive. It's not as if she'd had an easier road than he. Sighing, he looked her in the eyes. "Have you ever lost someone important to you?"

Valene nodded slowly, already readying to push back against the memories she knew would rush in. "Yes, the Harrowing doesn't let all live." _I've lost friends I knew for years. I lost the only person who gave me hope of love..._

_Of course, you idiot. Mages have to deal with that day in and day out. Their whole life is defined by trying not to die or turn into an abomination_. "Right, sorry. I just –" Alistair shook his head. "Thank you. I know this isn't easy for you. Thank you for taking charge, I'm terrible at it." A small smile formed on his lips. "I'm very good at being told what to do, however, so feel free to boss me around."

Valene couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped her lips. "I'll remember that next time I ask you to get firewood." A yawn interrupted her train of thoughts. "You'd better get some sleep though, we've got to get up early and head to Lothering."

Alistair nodded. "As you wish, leader-lady. You get some rest too." Smiling, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "The nightmares can stop, I promise." Her eyes locked on his and he held his breath. _They're grey... I've never seen eyes like that before_.

Valene blushed under Alistair's scrutiny, keenly aware of the warmth and weight of his hand. "Yes, well, I'll get right on that then. See you in the morning?" Valene fought another yawn.

Alistair jumped to his feet, withdrawing his hand as if it had suddenly caught fire. "Right, morning. Heh. Good night!" He began walking off, realizing a few steps too late that he'd already passed his bedroll. He went a few steps farther, looking into the darkness. _Pretend to be vigilant, watchful, all that stuff you're too much of an idiot to do._ Maybe Duncan _had_ recruited her to torment him after all. "You've got quite the sense of humor for a dead man," Alistair mumbled to himself. He would persevere. The Blight remained, if most of his order did not. His will to fight had returned. He had made an oath and he did not intend to break it. _The archdemon, Loghain – both will pay for what they've taken from me._ Returning to his blankets, Alistair couldn't help smiling sadly as he pried off his boots. _I'll make you proud, Duncan. I promise._

_

* * *

_

Four men lay dead and another was staring up at hear in fear. Valene's grey eyes bored into the man as he cringed uselessly against the bar. She could not decide whether he deserved to die. He had attacked her, after all, but he'd been lied to by Loghain. Why should he trust her word against the word of one of Ferelden's heroes? _A hero that abandons his king is hardly a hero_. The thought was bitter. Anger surged through her.

"Please, please let me live, I swear I'll never bother you again." The man was whimpering pitifully, tears streaming down his face.

"I think he's learned his lesson and there's no need for more killing." It was the lay sister, armed with a dagger, who had taken their side in the fight.

Valene had little interest in a priest's opinion at this point. She crouched down, leaning towards the man. _I must be cold, I must be hard._ Anger may serve her well, but only if she could control it. _Like my magic_. He flinched under her scrutiny. Finally, she spoke. "You will live, but only because I need you to deliver a message."

Relief flooded the man's features. "Of course! Anything you say, I swear I'll deliver it!" _Maker, she's going to let me live! I'll never leave my family again._

"You tell Loghain the Grey Wardens know of his treachery at Ostagar." Valene kept her voice low and threatening. "Tell him we know and that we will avenge the king and the deaths of our brothers." Her grey eyes glinted with anger. "Tell him this. If you fail, I will find you." Valene had no way to do so, but she saw the fear return to the man's face. He likely assumed mages had that power. He would do as she commanded.

"Y-y-yes, of course my lady! Forgive me, I'll leave to Denerim immediately. Thank you, my lady!" The man rolled away and scrambled to his feet. He stumbled in his hurry to get out of the door. Light poured in momentarily before a loud thud returned the tavern to relative darkness.

Morrigan scoffed with disdain as she began searching the dead men for coin or any useful items. "So pitiful." There was silence for a few heartbeats before the minstrel noticed the frantic signaling from the tavern keeper. The music began again, clumsy at first, and everyone seemed to snap out of their trances. People talked in low tones, shifting their glances between her and the bodies on the floor.

The lay sister spoke again, her voice calm and happy, as though nothing had happened. "My name is Leliana. I believe you were sent by the Maker and I wish to travel with you."

Valene's eyebrows jumped. "Travel with us? No. You may not." While another warrior wouldn't hurt, the sister looked like she was nothing of the sword. She was proficient enough with a dagger, but if Valene was going to go to the trouble of feeding and satisfying someone else, they'd have to be useful.

The sister's face fell. "But, I believe I can help you. I'm useful in battle, as you have seen. Please-"

Valene raised a hand and cut her off. She was in no mood to pick up star-eyed idiots who thought traveling with Grey Wardens was going to be some grand adventure. "I said no. That is the end of it." She turned to the tavern keep. She needed to discuss damages as well as supplies. The man near the chantry was charging outrageous prices for the most basic supplies. Even though they had looted the monied corpses and crates of the highwaymen, she wasn't going to waste it all in one place. "I apologize for the mess. I've got coin. And I'm in need of supplies."

Leliana brushed a strand of red hair from her face. She knew the mage was ignoring her, but she continued calmly. "I understand. I shall seek you later."

Valene continued on, trying to conceal her annoyance. _Go away! Can't you tell trouble is drawn to us? Haven't you heard Loghain's lies?_ "Now, if you have any extra packs you can afford to part with I'd be grateful. We'll need a good deal of food, but it's no use if we can't carry it. I'd also appreciate it if you could point me in the direction of someone who sells or repairs armor..." The tavern keep just nodded, sweating anxiously. She could tell he wanted them gone, but the lure of money held him. It would do.

Alistair stared at the back of Valene's head, wondering where all of that coldness had come from. He was quite certain Loghain's man had wet himself. _Not that you wouldn't be close to doing the same if you were stared down like that_. He found himself more than a little confused. Granted, his mage companion wasn't exactly soft, but he'd never heard or seen such coldness from her. She'd shown she could be kind and concerned and brave, but not that hard or that cold. Not until now. Then again, he hadn't tried to kill her. _Note to self: never, ever try and kill Valene_. _Ever_.

"In addition to all that I'll need as much in the way of dried meat, vegetables and fruit as you can spare." Valene's voice caught his attention. A smile crept onto his face. He knew something about the Taint made it manifest itself in ravenous hunger and he'd forced himself to almost half of his usual rations to prevent starving everyone else out. _She feels it already too_. He'd seen her eat – slowly, deliberately, as if trying to convince herself she was eating more food than she actually was. He smiled. Now, if he could just convince the woman they needed cheese, all would be well. If they did get killed, at least they'd die with full bellies.

* * *

Valene took one last look at Lothering. She knew the village was lost. The Darkspawn would be there in a matter of days and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't save anyone there. Even if she tried, failing or dying here wouldn't stop the Blight. Well, she had saved one person. That massive qunari with the white hair and violet eyes. She still wasn't certain why she'd agreed to free him. She was only glad she'd approached the Revered Mother alone. Alistair wouldn't have taken too kindly to the fact she'd threatened the woman. It was a small bit of revenge for every mage who had ever been hunted down by the Chantry. Initially, the Revered Mother had treated her as little better than an apostate, stating her objection to Valene's attire once she'd noticed her staff. A little... persuasion from Valene had changed her mind quickly. _Fire is a legitimate form of persuasion_. The qunari, Sten, followed them quietly. They'd scavenged some armor from the big, stupid highwayman's body, taking the dead man's greatsword as well. The armor fit well enough, even if it was a bit tight. _Killing them proved to be more useful than I would have thought. _She'd have to remember that next time they ran into bandits.

Turning back to the Imperial Highway, a figure caught her eye. _Chantry robes_. Maybe the Revered Mother had sent a priest to distract her with Templars lying in wait. Valene slung her staff off of her back. Sten, Alistair and Morrigan followed.

"What is it?" Alistair asked, eyes searching. _I can sense darkspawn far ahead, but not here._

"I'm not sure. Just... be ready." _Maybe the fire _hadn't_ been such a good idea..._

The figure moved slightly, and the afternoon sun glinted off of her hair. Brilliant red. Valene relaxed. It was the lay sister from the tavern. The figure waved to her excitedly. "Warden!"

Valene grimaced. There was no way to skirt around her. The sister had planted herself in the middle of the ramp that led up to the road. She relaxed her stance and slowed her pace. She did not relish telling the woman to leave again.

The sister smiled. "You may not remember me. I'm Leliana. Please, let me come with you. I believe you stand for a noble cause and that the Maker wishes me to help you. To help others." The woman's blue eyes sparkled with conviction. "The Maker has shown me my path, and I know it lies with you."

Alistair studied her. She was a true believer, that was certain, but in the Maker more than the Chantry. Something about her exuded goodness and sincerity. And she certainly hadn't been useless in the tavern. He leaned over to Valene. "She seems to have a good heart, and she definitely has skill. She could be useful. Let her come."

Valene turned to stare at Alistair. _Has he gone insane?_ "Oh she _seems_ fine, but she also _seems_ like she's missing a few support beams upstairs." Valene ignored Leliana's annoyed look and the way she folded her arms. _I'm not the one proclaiming the Maker sent me to pester a group of outlaws_.

Alistair sighed and nodded. "I know, I know, but really, it's more of an 'Oooh! Pretty colors!' sort than 'Mwahaha, I am princess stabbity! Stab, kill, kill.'"

Valene gave Alistair a flat look and let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. But you're in charge of getting her properly equipped in the next village we go through, or the next merchant we meet. And her rations are coming out of yours until we're resupplied."

Alistair pouted. Valene stared back at him, one eyebrow arched. "Hmph. Fine." Alistair turned his attention to Leliana. "Well then, looks like you're coming with us, sister."

Leliana clapped her hands in delight. "I won't let you down, I promise! And I did bring supplies with me, and coin. I've got enough food for at least a week, perhaps two. I've also got other useful skills..." The lay sister didn't elaborate, instead choosing to smile mysteriously.

Valene gave Leliana a slight nod. "Very well, let's be on our way." As she walked up the ramp, Morrigan reached her side.  
"I did not think a mage would make a habit of picking up Chantry strays." Morrigan's voice was a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "'Tis most strange."

"I pick up many strays." Valene shot Morrigan a look. "Including those that have nothing to do with the Chantry."

Morrigan's mouth twitched. She did not like being mocked. She had been pleased Valene had released the massive qunari, but the fact she had kept Alistair grated her. Her suggestion to leave him in the cage had been mostly serious. The lay sister was no improvement. "So it would seem."


	5. Chapter 4

Sten moved smoothly through the motions of battle. At least, that's what anyone watching would assume as he flowed from one move to the other, his great steel blade opening the bodies of darkspawn anywhere it swung. Inside, he felt as if he had lost an arm. The sword felt wrong. The grip was too smooth, the hilt too short. The entire sword felt as if it were improperly balanced. This sword was not made for him and he resisted it. It killed the twisted creatures, but it was as though another hand was guiding his. Asala was gone from him and in a country so torn by war and darkspawn he would surely never find it again.

The mage had freed him from the cage of metal, but she could not free him from the cage of dishonor. His soul was forever gone.

"You, my friend, have been blessed with good timing!" The dwarf's voice rang out in the air, clear and grateful. "My son and I would have been dead if not for you."

Valene wiped sweat from her forehead and squinted at the two dwarves. They were almost the same height, and broad in the shoulders, but the father was easily distinguished. The younger had a wide-eyed, happy expression on his face. Valene grunted. "What were you doing travelling this far south during a time like this?" _And what are dwarves doing so far from Orzammar?_

"Well, Sandal, that's my boy, and I make the usual rounds following this highway twice a year. We haven't had much trouble in the few years we've been doing it." He shot Valene an inquisitive look. "Something going on I should know about?"

"Well, that depends on whether or not you consider a Blight news." _Seeing as how there are some who don't_. Anger tightened her mouth momentarily.

"Goodness, who wouldn't consider that news! And something to be concerned about, at that!" The dwarf bowed suddenly, in a gesture that looked positively silly coming from a man in such simple clothes. "Forgive me my manners. My name is Bodhan Feddic, merchant caste and pleased to be worthy of your rescue, my lady."

Usually, Valene would take such a gesture towards a mage to be nothing more than pure mockery. The dwarf didn't seem at all the sort to mock, however. There was kindness in his face, along with a touch of sadness. The boy still grinned at her. _Maker, he's unnerving_. Valene shifted nervously and extended a hand.

"My name is Valene. I am a Grey Warden." _Let's see how he reacts to that_.

Bodhan's mouth widened in surprise. "A Grey Warden! It is an honor to meet you." He clasped her hand firmly and looked her in the eyes. "If there's any group of surfacers the dwarves respect, it's the Grey Wardens. You let us know we're not alone against the darkspawn. Why, any time one of you gets the Calling and comes to us, the warriors just get pleased as anything, I'll tell you that. Any one of you is as good as five of them. Please, most of my goods are strewn about after what that filthy lot did, but let me know what you need. I owe it to you, for what you are and what you have done." He talked loud and fast, like a boy meeting his hero, trying not to look nervous. The boy continued to grin.

_The Calling_? _What in Thedas is he talking about?_ "I won't steal from you, we'll trade like honorable people." Valene knew the man would protest, but in the end she'd get supplies at a lower rate and he'd be able to put some coin in his pocket. Valene was about ready to ask where they were headed when Alistair came charging over, breathing hard as he pulled his helmet off.

"Yes, just wonderful to have a merchant! Dwarves are such lovely folk. Pleased to meet you." Alistair was panicking. He hadn't told Valene about the Calling yet and if this merchant was going to sit and gab about it he wasn't certain he could put up with Valene's backlash. His hair probably looked all mashed and horrid now too. "How about we let Sten handle these affairs, he's good at that, aren't you Sten?"

The qunari grunted. "Yes. I am capable."

Alistair grinned. "There you have it, capable. Couldn't have said it better." He grabbed Valene's arm and started turning her away. "Mind if we have a little chat? One Grey Warden to another."

Valene was staring at him as if he'd donned a dress. Her feet didn't move. "What's gotten into you?"

Alistair pushed her a little. "Nothing, just need, you know... Warden time. Bonding." Alistair waggled the fingers on his free hand and tried to look sage and mystical. "Sensing the darkspawn. That kind of stuff." _You're an idiot, Alistair. You're an idiot and you've got everyone staring at you now. _He lowered his voice. "Please?"

Valene shook her head. "Fine, fine. Sten, I trust you know what we need." She motioned to Alistair. "Well, lead the way, you're the one who's wanting to gallivant off for... Warden time."

Alistair could've sworn he saw a smirk lingering behind that supposedly annoyed look. _You're not fooling me_. She wasn't, really. She was making him nervous. Trying to relax he set his shoulders back and started walking off. "Yes, well, over here. It's _secret_."

Alistair stumbled through the brush, cursing every low-lying bush. When he thought they were far enough away he turned to her. She already had her grey eyes fixed on him, arms across her chest and mouth set. One eyebrow was arched just so. Her hair was tousled from the actions of battle and a few spots of black blood stained her cheek. He couldn't decide if they softened the look or made her more intimidating. _Do _all _women have that look?_ He was almost certain they did.

"Alright, here's the thing. I should've told you earlier, but I didn't want to depress you too much." Valene's mouth twitched. Alistair frowned. _Was she suppressing a smile or was she trying not to look angry?_ He took a deep breath. "That thing the merchant mentioned. The Calling. I wanted to wait a little longer before telling you about it, but I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" _Just like everything else in my life_.

"I had considered asking you later, but please, do go on." Valene steeled herself for bad news. _Isn't there _anything_ good about becoming a Grey Warden_?

"Here's the thing: Grey Wardens never die natural deaths. Sure, some may get sick, but most survive long enough get the Calling. I don't know if you've gotten rid of your nightmares yet, but if you have or if you do, they'll return. They'll be worse than before and you'll never be able to stop them again. It's how a Warden knows his time has come. Instead of waiting around to die, Wardens go to Orzammar, to the Deep Roads. We go there to fight the darkspawn until we die." _There, I've said it_. He braced himself, waiting for her anger.

It didn't come. Valene visibly relaxed. _And here I thought we turned into some horrible monster_. "Then that's why they respect us?" Alistair nodded dumbly. "I see." Seconds passed with no words. Valene wanted to ask the question, but she couldn't quite bring herself to form the words.

Alistair saw the struggle in her face. "You have about thirty years. Give or take." Silence. Alistair cleared his throat. "Duncan... Duncan told me he'd begun to have the nightmares again. He had said he was going to go to Orzammar soon." The memory of that night still pained Alistair. It's why Ostagar had burned him so deeply. He'd thought he'd still have a few more months with Duncan, but it all ended there because of the treachery of a Teryn.

Valene raised her eyes to study Alistair. "His sacrifice will not be forgotten, Alistair."

Alistair ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to hide any emotion. There was a promise in her tone. An oath. "Yeah, well, not as long as we're alive, at least."

"Then we've got to stay alive, haven't we?" There was conviction in her voice, edged with determination and Alistair suddenly realized where the coldness in Lothering had come from. It had been there all along, a quiet undertone. Her eyes showed that coolness. _Tempered rage, honed like a dagger_. It was not directed at him, but it made his blood run cold.

Attempting to throw the sensation that he'd been dipped in ice-water, Alistair gave a smile. "Yes. Though I imagine you won't let me die, will you?" _You'd likely order my corpse to get up and keep fighting if I died before this is all over. And I'd do it_.

Valene smiled slightly. "No, I won't."

Alistair stretched his arms above his head, giving an exaggerated groan. "Well, that's settled then. Good." His hand twitched. The darkspawn blood on her cheek was bothering him.

Suddenly self-conscious, Valene willed herself not to blush and failed spectacularly. "Alistair? Something wrong?"

He narrowed his eyes as he removed his gauntlets. "Do you have any water on you?" _Alistair, destroyer of nasty black stuff_.

Valene blinked. "Water? Well, yes, I have a water skin in my pack. Don't you?"

His gaze didn't leave her face. _How can she not feel it? I swear I feel like I'm covered in nettles any time I get a drop on me_. His armor was covered in the stuff, but a good helm they'd stumbled across had kept any from touching his skin. "Already drank mine. Please?"

Valene slung her pack around, studying it furiously as her cheeks stained a deeper red. He didn't have to stare at her if he all he wanted was a drink. She tossed him the water skin.

Alistair removed the cork and splashed a little on his fingers. He lifted his hand to her face and began scrubbing away the blood. "You've got some black on you."

Valene paused the moment his hand touched her face. His skin was rough, and though he was insistent, he kept his touch gentle. He drew closer as he cleaned away the stains. A final look and he was satisfied.

Alistair smiled. "There. All clean. Feel better?"

Warm brown eyes looked into hers. She nodded slightly. _Those eyes remind me of... NO. I promised myself I would not dwell on this or do anything like it again._

Alistair suddenly became aware of the color and heat of her blush. _Maker, I probably embarrassed her, acting all motherly and awkward like this_. He withdrew his hand. "Let's go see if Sten's eaten the dwarf by now." He grinned wickedly. "Bet you second watch he's about ready to start on the boy."

Valene snapped back to reality and smiled weakly. "Oh, but dwarves are supposed to be tough and gamey. I doubt he's worked his way past the legs at this point." She watched Alistair turn and stumble through the brush again. Her heart fluttered unevenly for a moment before settling down.

_Don't do something stupid again, Valene. Don't get lost in a pretty pair of eyes and a warm smile. _Her eyes watered. _I won't. I can't... not again_.

* * *

Valene stared into the fire. It was deep in the night and she had demanded second watch. Sten hadn't eaten either one of the dwarves so both she and Alistair had lost the bet. The merchant was camped with them tonight. Valene imagined the merchant would follow, at least for a while. She and her companions offered protection as well as steady trade. _If he can keep up, I have no problems_. With the merchant, they could have access to proper food stores. It was almost all preserved, aside from things such as onions and potatoes, but it was also stored properly, unlike the poor food that had been crammed into their sacks. Leliana's skill with the bow also managed to put fresh meat in the pot daily. She had a good eye for game and managed to get at least one rabbit or game bird. She was certainly proving her usefulness. Valene had every intention of questioning the lay sister on her origins – the way she formed words couldn't be anything less than an Orlesian inflection – but that could come another day. True to her word, Leliana had produced enough coin to procure armor and a decent bow from the merchant. She had been anything but a burden. So far.

Valene shrugged her shoulders and willed herself against the cold. Even the fire couldn't warm her properly and she decided walking the perimeter had a better chance of warming her up. There were four tents clustered around the central fire – hers, Alistair's, Sten's and Leliana's. A fifth was off forty paces or so, a small fire crackling near the entrance. Morrigan still seemed put out by Valene's brusqueness in Lothering and had hardly spoken a word. Twenty paces to the side Bodhan and his son shared a tent near their cart. Aside from the crackling of the fire and the distant call of night birds, the night was still.

Valene began a circuit around the camp. They would easily reach the Circle Tower in another two days at the rate they had travelled. The memories stirred in her. She smiled at the thought of seeing Therien again. The elf woman was the only thing Valene truly missed about the Tower. Valene had been there for Therien after she had miscarried her first pregnancy, and the woman had been there for her when...

Valene stopped. _You can't run away from it forever_. Technically she could run from the Tower forever, but it wasn't the Tower she was running from. _How does one escape their own mind?_

Valene looked at the sky. A familiar constellation had nearly fallen to the horizon. It was time for Sten to take his watch. She completed her circuit of the camp before turning her steps to his tent. She crouched down in front of the opening and whispered softly. "Sten?"

The qunari's stern face popped out of the tent flap immediately. "I am ready."

Valene fell over backwards in surprise. "Andraste's flaming sword, Sten, do you ever sleep?"

Sten looked at her blandly. "Of course."

Valene stared, waiting for an elaboration. The violet eyes did not blink. _Of course_, she mimicked in her head. _Qunari_. Valene pushed herself to her feet. "Your watch. 'Night."

Valene turned on her heel, walking quickly towards her tent. She needed sleep and the second watch was the most difficult. Only bothering to remove her boots, Valene snuggled down into her bedroll. As an afterthought she willed herself against the darkspawn nightmares. They were almost gone now. No more bad dreams.

* * *

_Seventeen years old and assigned to work with someone two years past her age! Valene could hardly contain her excitement. Not only did she have the opportunity to work with a more experienced apprentice and learn more advanced spells, this particular apprentice had caught her eye before. Rolan's warm brown eyes, black hair, tall build and easy smile had initially drawn her to him, but it was the way she'd seen him treat the youngest initiates that interested her. _He's so understanding with them_, she sighed to herself. She remembered how terrifying it was to be newly arrived and how much an apprentice's kind word meant. He was talented too, and they were both students of the primal school of magic. She sat down next to him in a large, mostly bare classroom The desks and chairs looked fairly battered, as did the solitary bookshelf. The elements were not kind to wood. There were six students besides herself and Rolan. The class was one short as one apprentice had passed his Harrowing. The First Enchanter had suggested she take his place. While she wasn't the next candidate by age, he had said her talent and earnest study earned her the right for more advanced personal training. Her mentor had agreed – he was highly talented in entropy spells, but very weak with primal. There was little more he could teach her._

_Enchanter Leorah, a blonde elf, pretty and experienced, with a talent for cold spells, led the class. "We have a new student today, so go easy on her." A mischievous smile crossed the woman's face. "We don't want her getting singed too much on the first day." Valene blushed, but the fellow students just looked encouraging. _

_Rolan whispered reassuringly. "She's said the same for every new student, I promise. She'll make certain that anything that catches on fire is doused immediately. Just... stay in her good graces." He finished with a wink. Valene giggled and nodded, eager to learn. _

_

* * *

_

_Valene was in a courtyard outside. "Try it again, control it, direct it away from you." Rolan stood behind her. He was exceptionally talented in lightning spells, and Valene had been trying to master a spell to send a cone of electricity from her hands in a steady, sustained stream. The other elements came to her with ease, particularly those dealt with stone or earth manipulations. So far she'd only accomplished shocking herself and singeing some of the grass that grew between the old, worn stones that lined the courtyard. The pile of sacks that were supposed to act as her target remained untouched. Two Templars watched impassively from the far sides of the courtyard. They knew better than to get too close. Lightening spells were unkind to those wearing an entire suit of armor._

_Valene could feel herself tiring, but she steeled herself and tried again. Concentrating hard, she flung her hands in front of her, the image of purple and blue lightning dancing in her head. The image in her head appeared in her hands, dancing around them harmlessly. "That's it!" Rolan called out. "Now push it away!"_

_Thrusting her hands out in front of her, Valene willed the lightning away. It leapt from her hands, extending out six or seven paces, growing wider the further it went from her body. Excitement filled her as she watched the sacks engulfed in blue and purple light. The lightning singed them and threatened to catch fire. She could feel the magic flow through her, feel the electricity dance at her command. It was amazing. Drawing a breath she let one final burst of energy shoot from her hands before cutting off her spell. She whirled to face Rolan, a grin on her face._

_She practically ran into him. He had moved directly behind her sometime during her spell-casting. His face glowed with pride and... something else. Valene's grin turned to a shy smile. She met his gaze. His beautiful brown eyes gazed at her and made her feel something she'd never felt before. Desire._

_Rolan lifted a hand and stroked her hair gently. "I'm so proud of you." He smiled and caressed her cheek. "You're talented... and beautiful."_

_Valene felt heat rush to her cheeks and her breath quickened. "Rolan, I-"_

_He cut her off, motioning to the Templars ever so slightly. "I know. Meet me in the second library after dinner tonight."He stepped back and glanced at the Templars. "Promise?"_

"_Promise." Valene smiled._

_

* * *

_

_Valene giggled against Rolan's mouth. He arched an eyebrow at her. "What is it?"She could only gasp and laugh harder as his fingers danced over her ribs, the thin apprentice robes offering little protection._

"_Rolan!" she gasped, trying to stay quiet. "You know I'm ticklish!" He persisted a few moments more before sliding both hands around her waist, pulling her close._

_Valene kissed his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. It had been four months since their first kiss and every free moment since then had been spent together. Enchanter Leorah had noticed their interest in each other and spoken seriously to each of them individually, making them promise to take measures to prevent children. Such talk had embarrassed Valene, but she knew Leorah only wished the best for both of them. The precautions were needless, for now. Both were inexperienced and neither was quite ready. However, Valene had promised to take the herb that would prevent a child. Her commitment meant the senior enchanters decided to leave the romance alone. As far as they kept up their studies and there were no children, the other enchanters could hardly deny mages a chance at real love, if that is what it would become._

_Rolan tilted her chin towards his face. His lips brushed hers as he whispered. Valene returned the kiss before pulling back slightly. "What did you say? I couldn't hear..." _

_He smiled and kissed her cheek, hugging her tight. His warm breath tickled her ear as he murmured. "I said I love you."_

_Valene returned the hug, holding onto him fiercely for several moments before drawing back to look into his eyes. They shone with warmth and sincerity. "I love you too, Rolan."He smiled and leaned to kiss her again. A peal broke through the relative silence. Curfew for all apprentices. Rolan shook his head, swearing._

_Valene put a finger to his lips and planted a kiss over it. "It's alright. I'll see you tomorrow and the next day and the day after that." She grinned. "And I'll see you in the morning when we work on Tempest."That spell in particular was giving her fits, but she had hopes that Rolan would once again be able to coax the electricity out of her._

_Rolan laughed. "Always the good student, Valene. Sleep well. And don't wear anything metal!" He kissed her one last time before dashing off. She watched him until he turned the corner, disappearing from her sight._

_Valene grinned. She was in love and loved back. Life in the Tower was wonderful._

_

* * *

_

_Valene sat at a long table in the library, fidgeting nervously. It was well past mid-day and Rolan hadn't shown up. She was struggling to maintain her emotions. _It's alright, he just had to run an errand for a senior enchanter_. That's what she kept telling herself. Last night's confession in the library had kept her awake for hours with excitement, but that had seeped away. Fear crept into her mind. She looked at the book that lay open in front of her. The page was open to the section on electrical magic, including the spell Rolan had promised to teach her. She would read until he came_.

"_Valene. Valene, wake up, it's time for bed." The voice was vaguely familiar. Valene raised her head groggily, looking up at the one waking her. It was an enchanter, Niall, if she remembered his name correctly. His face was apprehensive. _

"_I can't go yet, Rolan promised –" A yawn cut her off. "He promised to teach me this spell today. I can't leave." Valene stretched, her muscles stiff. The library was dim, with only a few stubby candles still burning._

_Alarm rippled across Niall's face. "Maker... they didn't tell you, did they?"He shook his head in disgust, swearing softly._

_Valene sat upright, all thoughts of sleep gone. "Didn't tell me what, Niall?" Her voice was high-pitched. "Didn't tell me what?" She was panicking now._

_Niall placed his hands on Valene's shoulders, looking her in the eyes. Niall knew about Rolan and Valene as well as any enchanter. _Maker, why did _I _have to be the one to tell her this?_ "Rolan was summoned to the Harrowing last night. He-" Niall paused, obviously distressed. Valene went pale and her lower lip began to tremble. Niall closed his eyes and ended in a whisper. "He won't be coming back, Valene. Ever."_

_Valene's head spun. _This isn't fair! _Her mind screamed while her heart broke. She felt herself falling and let out a scream._

_The curfew bell pealed. _

_

* * *

_

_First Enchanter Irving closed the door behind Valene. She was in his study, sitting on a simple wooden chair. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were hollow. She hadn't slept in days and it was beginning to drive her mad, but every time she closed her eyes, she could hear and see and feel him. She shivered and rubbed her arms. She couldn't seem to get warm, anymore._

_The First Enchanter slowly walked to his desk. Here his most promising apprentice in years sat in shambles. He had never feared for her, not even for the day her own Harrowing would arrive. No normal dangers of the Tower had ever made him fear for her. _Then again, love is hardly normal in the Tower_. He sat down, feeling older than usual. He had rehearsed this and began his speech. "Valene, I know Rolan was very special to you-"_

_Fire and madness blazed in Valene's eyes as she locked her eyes to meet the First Enchanter's. "Special?_ Special_?!" she screamed. "He was my world and now he is gone. I don't know what happened or where you sent him, but he won't come back, just like every other apprentice who never came back!" She found herself on her feet, filled with a rage she didn't know she possessed._

"_Valene, sit down!" Irving boomed. She didn't even flinch. Pushing his chair away from his desk, he started pacing. Her eyes followed his every move. "You are a mage and this will be a part of your life as long as you live. You can never escape this. You must accept it! There is _no_ other way."Irving hated to be reminded of the worst and most revolting of his duties: sending young mages to a trial that would kill them or scar them for life._

_Something about the finality of Irving's words quenched the fire in Valene. She'd had so little strength to begin with and the realization that this was just the beginning sapped every remaining ounce of will from her. Collapsing to the floor she sobbed. _My so-called gift is a curse... a curse to myself and everyone else inflicted with it._ Pain wracked her form._

_The First Enchanter forced himself to remain where he was. He could not intervene. This was something she had to find within herself. _

_Half an hour passed before Valene grew quiet. Irving approached the girl, reaching out with magic to soothe her into a sleep. Her body visibly relaxed and her breathing calmed. It had worked. Irving went to the door and looked into the hall. A young Templar stood outside. Irving gestured to the young man and returned to his study._

"_What is your name, my boy?" Irving knew this was one of Greagoir's younger Templars. Maybe even a more sympathetic one._

"_C-Cullen, First Enchanter Irving." The young man was trying so hard to not appear nervous._

_Irving gestured to the sleeping figure on the floor. "Could you take her to the apprentice dormitories? Valene's bunk is in the center row, second from the back, bottom bunk of the North Chamber. She has been through so much and needs rest." Cullen nodded and bent to pick her up. Irving reached a hand forward in caution. "Cullen, be gentle. Don't wake her."_

_Cullen gently scooped up the girl in his arms, doing his best to avoid jostling her. He fixed a gaze on Irving as he stood up and whispered. "Don't worry. I won't."_

_Cullen opened the door to the female dormitory. It was quiet, empty. Mid-day meant almost every student was at a lesson or eating. Those that weren't attended assigned study. Cullen crept into the room, heading for the bed Irving had told him. Other Templars had given him strange looks as he carried the girl through the Tower, but they had said nothing. He looked down at the girl's face. Deep purple half-moons were under her eyes and she was completely in disarray. There was something about her, something about her vulnerability and the way her cheekbones rose so high and proud despite the obvious despair in her face that drew Cullen in. _

_Cullen shifted the girl as he found her bunk. She moved slightly and rested her head against his shoulder. She mumbled something he couldn't make out. Cullen's heart stopped as a thought niggled at the back of his mind. _But she's a mage, and you've taken vows_. The thought alarmed him. He needed air, he needed to get away. _

But not until I finish my task_. He knelt by the bed and laid the girl down gently, brushing the hair out of her face. His hands felt cold and large and awkward in his gauntlets. He froze as the girl opened her eyes. They were tired, red from tears and bleary. They met his. Cullen held his breath._

_The girl- Cullen stopped his thoughts. He knew her name._ Valene_ blinked a few times. She smiled and closed her eyes. Eyes as grey as the Tower that held her._

_Cullen exhaled and stood up, keeping his eyes on Valene's face. Despite his vows and the reality of what she was, Cullen couldn't help himself. The voice whispered in his head once more, its tone full of disdain. _But she's a mage_. Cullen didn't care. He was enthralled._


	6. Chapter 5

Alistair winced as Valene wretched in the next room. Sten's face was full of disapproval, but then again, it was always like that. Wynne looked as though she was struggling to hold herself back. They'd left Leliana and Morrigan at the docks. While Leliana certainly would have proven useful, Morrigan in a tower filled with edgy Templars and abominations running everywhere wouldn't have made any friends. _Not that she has any talent for doing so in the best of conditions_. Though most wouldn't recognize her for an apostate, Templars had a feel for that. Valene had made a good choice leaving Leliana. Morrigan wasn't exactly fond of her, but Sten would have drawn attention and had he been left, it would have been even worse. Another sound, louder this time, followed by a sputtering cough. _What changed? She'd been fine until we reached this floor_. The abominations hadn't made her flinch, nor had the demons springing up like daises in spring. Alistair tried peering into the room they had just left. _ Can't be puking her guts out over dead Templars. Not that anyone does. Ever_. Turning to make a sweep of the other side of the room, Wynne's glare caught his roving eye. Alistair blinked. "What?"

Wynne shook her head and held a finger to her lips. "Shh. Over there. That's-" Wynne paused, grief threatening to overwhelm her as she pointed. "That's all that's left of Valene's dearest friend."

Alistair followed Wynne's wrinkled hand. A small body lay on the ground, legs and body charred and covered in deep furrows. It looked like the work of one of those fire demons, and, judging by the body's contorted pose, had been done while the woman was still alive. Amazingly, the face was as untouched as freshly fallen snow. Dark brown hair was pinned back neatly, the small face was caught in one last scream of horror. Her eyes were wide and glazed. Shuddering, Alistair turned his back and shook his head. "Was she another mage?"

Wynne shook her head. "No, simply a servant, but she served well and put her heart into it. Valene never cared who you were, what race you belonged to or where you came from. In the Tower, it is a home, and we must do our best to live in peace. Valene recognized goodness when she saw it." Wynne hadn't known the elf very well personally, but most of the Senior Enchanters knew Irving's favourite pupil well enough, as well as those who got along with her. And everyone knew about Valene and Rolan and the fact it was Therien's friendship that had pulled her back from the precipice of despair. _She's not a student any longer, Wynne_, she chided herself. _She's shown more mettle than you did the first time you saw an abomination, and that was only one. She's lost a love and grieved deeply for it. Leave her in peace_.

Alistair glanced at the small form again, a chill running through his spine. He couldn't blame her for being upset. Footsteps announced Valene's presence before she came into sight. Her skin had a sickly grey pallor, making her look like a walking corpse. _And I actually got the pleasure of encountering a few of those, today_. She drew the back of her hand across her mouth and straightened. "Forgive me," she said, her voice hoarse. "We have work to do. Press on."

Without another word, she strode down the hall, not even turning her head towards the fallen corpse of her friend. Alistair shook his head. _That coldness again... and here I thought she'd started to melt._

Valene fought the urge to vomit again. The sight of Therien's broken body and the dream two nights ago had momentarily broken her resolve. _Why did I have to find her in Irving's Study?_ The bitter taste of bile lingered in her mouth. _Irving... if I find Irving I will make sure she gets a proper pyre. If I do not find him... _The Circle Tower had not been the easy source of allies she had hoped to find. From what she could gather from the bodies of blood mages, it appeared as though Uldred had been courted by Loghain with promises of circle independence. He had betrayed Uldred and those seeking the Circles independence. They had turned to blood magic and she had already encountered half a dozen abominations. If she couldn't find the First Enchanter every mage left alive, innocent or guilty, would be killed. She realized she hadn't asked Greagoir if her death would be included in the Rite of Annulment. The Templars she had killed were ones she recognized by sight; a few were even familiar by name. All had been hopelessly ensorcelled and bent on killing her. She counted herself lucky, more than one of the Templars had exceptionally powerful talents and any one of them could have all but killed her with a single strike. In their enchanted state, however, they had proved easily distracted by Sten and Alistair. Valene stopped suddenly. Things were silent.

Alistair thudded into her loudly, and Sten tripped over one of Alistair's errant legs, cursing in his tongue. "Why do we stop?"

Valene raised her hand in annoyance, cutting him off. She couldn't hear any sounds. There were no whisperings, no strange currents of air. It was still. "I think the floor is cleared. We've swept through every room open to us without further help. Let's get into the center chamber. The stairs to the Harrowing Chamber start there."

Wynne nodded in assent. What rooms they could access no longer held demons, templars or what was left of the blood mages. The hall curved with the shape of the tower as they approached one of the doors to the center chamber.

Valene opened the door and stepped in. An abomination stood over the body of a mage that she recognized immediately. He looked older than she remembered. Niall. She hadn't spoken to the man since the day in the library. Childish on her part, but her memories of Rolan were inexorably tied to the mage. Another ghost to haunt her. One of the Tranquil, Owain, had mentioned Niall had taken the Litany of Andralla in an attempt to stop the mages. Gripping her staff Valene readied herself to cast a spell when the abomination spoke.

"Now, now, attacking me isn't any way to say hello." The abominations voice was deep and grating, the sound of stone sliding on stone. "And, after all, aren't you feeling... _tired_?"

A sudden wave of weariness washed over Valene. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sten slouch, shaking his head in protest. "No, we must fight." His voice lacked its usual conviction.

"You are an abomination and you will die." Valene's words sounded hollow and meaningless, like an angry child.

"Certainly," the abomination purred. "But you should sleep first. Just lie down and sleep." He drew out the last word and she swayed.

_I must fight this, I must not sleep_. Valene sank to her knees, raising her eyes to the abomination as it walked closer. She heard the sound of armor and staff hitting the ground. The abomination raised a hand and traced a finger along her chin, the eye unconcealed by corrupted flesh fixing on hers.

"Sleep, little one. Just rest." Its voice was a whisper now.

Valene nodded as her eyes began to flutter shut. _Sleep._

_

* * *

_

_Makers breath, this is beautiful_, Valene thought to herself. Great arching halls of stone loomed overhead. The walkway was open to the sky on one side, revealing the view over the mountains. The valley floor lay far below, a hazy green shape. Valene's eye could catch an eagle drifting on the thermals now and then. _Why, they're only slightly higher than I am!_ She smiled to herself.

Continuing along the walkway she saw sight of a figure ahead. There was something familiar about the man. Valene quickened her pace, squinting. If she didn't know any better, she would have said the man was Duncan. She frowned. It _was_ Duncan. Something was wrong, she could remember Ostagar and Loghain's retreat.

Duncan smiled as she approached. "Dear sister, this place is wonderful, isn't it?" He looked refreshed, happy and at peace. Valene only nodded as he continued. "Weisshaupt Fortress, built hundreds of years ago by the first Grey Wardens. And here we stand, conquerors of the last Blight.

Something pressed at her mind. Memories of a dead archdemon and great fires underground. They felt familiar, but they were not hers. "But the Blight isn't over yet." Valene spoke, her voice uncertain. "You... you fell at Ostagar. With the king."

Duncan's eyes grew said. "King Cailin fell, this is true, and Ferelden felt his lost. But I survived, don't you remember? Together we defeated the archdemon and set fire to the underground lairs. Darkspawn shall trouble the world no more."

Something whispered in her mind, pressing her to believe it was true. She struggled to resist. "No, that's what everyone thought after the last Blight, but they came back. The Grey Wardens know better. 'In peace, vigilance.'" She quoted the Grey Warden Motto Alistair had shared with her. No true Grey Warden, and Duncan least of all, would think their duty abandoned.

Duncan's face grew angry. "Is all you want fighting and death and despair, child? Do you not see this wonderful gift I give you?"

Valene's heart ached. This was not Duncan. She knew that. But it had his face and his voice, and his scorn pained her. "That is not all I want, but I cannot lounge in complacency while Ferelden lies exposed." Valene removed her staff from its harness. She knew what was coming next.

Duncan drew a sword and dagger. It was the same dagger that had killed Ser Jory. Duncan dropped into a fighting stance. "Very well. You shall have your bloodshed!" He lunged at her as she cast.

Valene let loose a powerful spell that turned Duncan to stone. Tears stinging her eyes, she whispered to the thing in Duncan's form. "Forgive me, Duncan. I am sorry." She hurled a great ball of stone and the form that was Duncan shattered. There was a shimmer of light and a twisted pedestal appeared where Duncan had stood. She could feel the magic of the Fade as she began studying it. There were circles, all interconnected by lines. One pulsed brightly and she had a feeling that it was responding to her. _I think... I think this is where I am now_. The light pulsed brightly. Only one line led from her circle. The next circle was pale blue. All of the others were dark. She pressed her finger to the pale blue dot and felt the power of magic surge around her.

* * *

"Sten! Should we not return home? There is no Blight here, nothing but wet dogs and bad food." Karashok sat next to Ashaad, both of them sitting around a fire.

Sten knew it wasn't real. He wasn't certain he cared. "Hush. There is a Blight, Karashok. We will return soon enough." A lie, but a comforting lie. His men were alive and Asala was on his back. All was as it was before the night by Lake Calenhad.

* * *

Valene scurried up to Niall. He didn't notice her. _Nothing does in this form_. Seeing the man again had eased some of her ache from seeing his body. She'd apologized, but he'd brushed it all aside. There were more serious problems to consider than hurt feelings. Valene closed her eyes and transformed.

Niall jumped in fright. "By the Maker!" he cried, while stumbling away.

Valene stood up from her crouch. "I did it Niall, I found the mouse and he taught me the form." Hope had returned to her. "Maybe this way, I can find a way out."

Niall was still recovering from the shock of her sudden appearance. "You can become a mouse? The tiny holes... maybe you can get through them, using that form."

Valene nodded, a flush of excitement running through her. The changing took effort, but the new form could prove invaluable. "I'm going to go to another one of the islands you mentioned."

Niall's brow furrowed. "Aren't you going to take care of the demon here, first?" He could feel its power and hated it.

Valene shook her head. "I can't get to her. I've tried every hole and portal so far. I have to go to another island. Maybe there's more to be found..." Valene trailed off. _And what if there isn't? Being a mouse won't get you everywhere_.

Niall nodded. "You're right. Go. You give me hope." He gave Valene a soft smile. "I was never angry at you, by the way. I was angry no one thought to tell you and that it fell to me to break your heart."

Valene closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I know, Niall. I'm sorry I was such a child. I hope I can get you out of this place... that all of us can leave." If she could find the demons. If she could find Sten and Wynne and Alistair. Too many ifs.

Niall nodded, urging her towards the pedestal. "Go, then. If anyone can do it, it is you." Niall watched as Valene selected an island and disappeared in a flash of blue light. He was alone again. He had never expected the girl to be the same after that night. She hadn't remained broken, but something had changed in her. It was behind what drove her now. _And if Rolan had lived, both of them would likely be dead_. _Was his death part of some greater destiny, then? Was that what drove her grief so long ago?_

Sighing, he sat down to wait once more. This time, however, he waited with hope. He knew he was beyond saving, but if the Circle could be saved, it would not be in vain. He sat in silence and pondered his impending death. The oppressive outline of the Black City loomed in the distance.

* * *

Valene staggered into the hall, left arm hanging uselessly at her side. _Where did I see that lyrium vein?_ An angry bellow roared from a room down the hall. She could feel the demon there, trying to draw her in. She quickened her pace and ducked into the room down the hall. She looked down at her useless hand and tried to will her fingers into movement. Nothing. A deep furrow ran the length of her arm, the white bone exposed in places. The rage demon had come from behind her as she had finished off another. She remembered the agony of the fiery claws digging through her flesh, burning as they went. Her mind leapt to Therien. _You did not deserve that... Maker, I don't know that maleficarum deserve that._ The injury had left her no choice – she had been forced to change into the form of a stone golem. She had ended the demon well enough, but changing back hadn't healed anything. She looked around the room. Book cases floated half a pace off the floor, chairs floated on their sides. A great table was in the middle of the room, half of its height sunk into the floor. She knew the place – it was the second library of the Tower. Valene crept around a book case. Amid the putrescent film the fade bestowed upon everything, she saw a blue glow. _That's where it was_.

Valene looked around her carefully. She could still hear something down the hall, but the library was silent. She'd already killed an abomination here, but its body was gone. _Does that mean it will just keep returning?_ The thought made her shiver. She had discovered the usefulness of the lyrium veins when fighting one of the demons that protected sloth. She had cast and cast until her ability to draw on magic was spent. The demon had nearly been dead, but Valene had been left virtually defenseless. Touching the lyrium had been an impulse. It was deeply connected to the fade and magical within itself. She had run towards the thick, crystalline shapes and reached out her hand. The moment she made contact she felt strength surge through her. A cut on her head had healed and all exhaustion had been washed away. The lyrium gave it all to her, the blue glow fading away as her own strength grew. The vein was spent, but it had given her what she needed to survive.

And now she needed it again. The wound wouldn't kill her, but her incapacity would if she stumbled into a demon so broken and useless. Steeling herself for attack, Valene gripped her bad arm, ignoring the pain. She ran forward, her eyes transfixed on the lyrium, each step sending a jolt of pain through her ruined arm. She let go of it and reached forward with her right hand, the lyrium nearly within reach.

Magic flowed into her and muscle that had been charred sloughed away and began to re-grow bright red and healthy, knitting itself together. Valene watched in fascinated revulsion as she saw each layer of muscle reshape, hewn sides moving towards each other, quivering as they strained to meet. Muscle upon muscle covered her bone, and finally, her torn skin stretched and shaped.

Once more, Valene willed her fingers to move and they wiggled in response. Gingerly lifting her arm, Valene began testing it, waiting for a twinge of pain or discomfort. Nothing. She shook her head in amazement. _The Fade is as full of wonder as it is of horror. _

Newly knit and battle ready, Valene returned to the hall, striding with purpose this time. The pride demon at the center of the nightmare called to her. She would answer. Her answer was vengeance.

* * *

Wynne knelt by the lifeless body, trying to keep back her tears. So many lay dead about her. She reached out to the horror-stricken face and said a prayer. She was no priest, but she believed. "Maker receive this soul. He was only an apprentice, but he was pure of heart and strong of will. Maker accept him in your embrace and see him to peace..."

The quite sound of footsteps tugged at her thoughts. Wynne finished her prayer before standing, weariness seeping into her bones. _I'm too old for this_. A young mage stood before her, wearing light armor, not the robes of the circle. Wynne had no time for those who rebelled against the Circle's structure. "Please, leave me be. I have no use for those such as you."

The mage stepped closer. "Wynne, we have to go. There are those alive who need us." The young woman reached out a hand, her smile reassuring, if tired.

Wynne shook her head. "You do not know of what you speak. The Circle is gone and there are so many dead. Leave me. I will bury as many as I can before I too die." Wynne's will to live would only last so long as her task. Of that she was certain.

"Please Wynne, you must trust me. Try and remember how you got here. Remember those children you saved, the shield you held so well..." The young mage's face invited trust.

Wynne's mouth tightened in disapproval. "Your disrespect for the gravity of the situation disturbs me greatly." The mage pleaded with her eyes. Wynne sighed. "Fine, I will do what you ask, but then you will leave."

_I remember Uldred and the Tower_. Wynne frowned. She could not remember leaving the Tower. She could remember the shield mentioned by the mage. And the mage's face, it was familiar. It brought memories of Ostagar, of a Tower torn and corrupted. Wynne blinked. "Valene. We are in the Fade."

"Yes, Wynne. Come with me. The others, they are still trapped. We must find them before we face the Sloth demon at the center of the nightmare." Valene's face shone with determination.

Wynne nodded and began to step away from the bodies.

"Stay, Wynne. Stay with us. How can you leave the dead?" The voice of a young girl pleaded.

Wynne recoiled in horror. She had thought them dead, and here they came to life. "Back, unnatural creatures! This is not right!"

Valene laid a hand on Wynne's shoulder. "We must kill them to leave. We must kill them together."

The two mages drew their staffs. The bodies had turned into skeletons dripping with rotting flesh, their faces now expressionless skulls. Sloth's deception was weakening.

Worry creased Valene's forehead as Sten disappeared with a curse in his native tongue. The same had occurred with Wynne. The demon resisted her attempts to free them. Growling in frustration, she stalked back to the fade pedestal. There was one more nightmare for her to face, one more of her companions to free. Alistair. She stared at the island, its blue light glowing softly. She pressed her thumb to it and closed her eyes. Light enveloped her.

* * *

Alistair stood in his sister's house. She smiled happily at one of her children, giving the child a loving pat to send it on its way. Her face was kind and understanding as she turned to face Alistair. He could see nothing of his own in it, but then again, he looked like his father.

"Little brother, I'm so happy you found me." Goldanna's voice was soft and light. It soothed his soul.

Alistair smiled back. "I'm glad too. I've never felt so at home. I'm done with Templars and Grey Wardens and everything. I'll be happy to just stay here." Everything was perfect.

A knock on the door broke the moment. Alistair raised a hand to stop his sister. "Don't worry yourself, I'll get it!" He practically danced to the door, feeling lighter and stronger than he could ever remember. He pulled the wooden door open, the hinges creaking slightly. He knew who stood there. He grinned.

"Oh good! I've told Goldanna about you, and our adventures. I'm happy you could visit. Look! She's got children and they're so sweet. Isn't that wonderful?" Alistair looked into the grey eyes, oblivious to the concern behind them.

Valene nodded. "Yes, that's lovely. But we have to go, Alistair. We have duties, we made oaths."

Alistair cut her off with a laugh. "Bah, oaths. Oaths only leave you dead in the Deep Roads and who wants that? I'm happy here, I'm not leaving." He took her hand. "Come in, come in, Goldanna was just getting ready to cook supper. She's much better than I am."

Valene stepped into the house. "I- Alistair, please. We need to go. I can't do this alone. Don't you remember how we got here?"

Alistair picked up a little boy._ My nephew_. "Of course you can, you're perfectly capable. You've got others, they can help." Something tickled at his mind. "Though come to think of it, knowing how I got here would be nice."

Goldanna stepped forward and took the child, glaring at Valene. Her voice remained overly bright. "You may stay for dinner, if you wish, but Alistair will stay with us always. He has found his home."

Valene caught Alistair's arm. "Alistair. Think of how you got here. What do you remember last? Tell me." She had tired of Sloth's games.

He looked at her, baffled. Those grey eyes burned into him, commanding. "Alright, but then we're having dinner." He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. "We were traipsing around Lake Calenhad, we went to the Tower, the Templars –" Alistair stopped. His face took on a look of concentration. "The Templars were waiting for the Right of Annulment. There were abominations everywhere."

Goldanna's voice rang out. "It is almost time to eat, dear brother. Will you ready the children?" Her eyes blazed with anger, never leaving Valene.

Alistair didn't turn to her. "I have to go. We have to go. I remember now." He and Valene turned towards the door.

The illusion disappeared. There were no walls, no roof, no children. There was only the twisted landscape of the fade. A voice raged behind him. "You cannot have him!"

Valene pushed Alistair towards the fade portal. "Run!" His feet obeyed her command, just as they had at Ostagar. He felt no shame now, only trust.

Valene followed for several paces before stopping. She turned and began to cast. Goldanna was glaring at her with eyes of liquid fire, summoning her skeletal companions. The image of Rolan's face blazed in her mind. Raising her staff above her head, Valene called down a storm as she never had. Purple and blue lightning began to flash out, catching the demon that was Goldanna in its grasp. Bolts lashed out angrily at the walking dead, each blast weakening them. The storm raged a full minute, the last vestiges of electricity striking down Goldanna in its wake. It was over. Valene dropped to her knees, panting heavily. In her head, she heard the echo of Rolan's voice. "_I'm so proud of you_."

Soft footsteps crept up behind her. "Valene?" Alistair's voice was uncertain, edged in fear. "What in the name of the Maker was that?"

Slowly getting back to her feet, Valene turned to him. His form began to flicker and dissolve as she whispered. "Tempest."


	7. Chapter 6

There was a muffled groan off to the right. Armor rasped against polished stone. Valene opened her eyes, the ceiling high above her. She pushed herself into a sitting position. The abomination lay dead several paces away. Niall's body was closer, the Litany of Andralla still at his hand. His last words echoed in her head. _"Take the Litany of Andralla off of my body. Use it to save the Circle_." Slowly rising to her feet, she stepped over Niall's lifeless body and bent down to the book, picking it up gently. Blood splattered the leather cover.

The Litany cradled in her arms, Valene turned to her companions. "Are you ready?" All of them nodded. "Then we press on." The door to the staircase loomed ahead. Her course certain, Valene picked her away through the corruption, over the abomination. A soft hum resonated through the metal door. Valene handed the tome to Wynne and opened the door slowly.

A circle of light surrounded five Templars. Four of them lay dead and the fifth was on his knees, whispering a prayer. "Cullen?" Valene could hardly believe it was him. "Is that you?"

The Templar raised his head, fatigue and anger swirling in his gaze. "No more tricks! I will stay strong!" He bowed his head again and resumed his praying. It was louder, more frantic.

"Cullen, it's me, Valene. Don't you remember me?" Valene approached the cage of light, reaching out to touch it. It was completely solid, and a small surge of energy made her withdraw her hand. She studied Cullen's face. His entire expression was strained with hate and struggle. He was exhausted.

Wynne whispered softly, her voice filled with amazement. "I've never seen anything like it. It's impenetrable." Her face creased with disdain. "Its purpose is to break him."

Cullen lashed out, addressing none of them. "How far into my memories did you have to delve to find her there?" He stared at Valene, eyes full of disbelief and "She was the only thing that ever tempted me to stray from my vows. It couldn't be one of the serving women, could it? Even an elf would have been less shameful. It had to be -" Cullen bared his teeth as hissed. "A _mage_."

Valene felt sick. She could feel her cheeks heating, but the rest of her had turned to ice. She'd always found Cullen one of the more understanding Templars and had figured at least part of it was his age, but now his kind words and awkward demeanor took on a deeper meaning. She'd never assumed he'd felt anything more than friendship toward her. The cause for his ashen face on the day of her Harrowing became painfully clear. She cleared her throat, trying to think of words to explain. "Cullen, I'm real. I'm here to help."

The Templar stood up and drew himself to his full height. He spoke, and his voice echoed in the chamber. "Begone, spirit! In the name of the Maker, leave me, now!" His eyes closed for several moments. They opened again. Surprise had replaced his conviction. "But that's worked before! Why aren't you gone?"

Valene sighed softly. _Maker, what have they done to you?_ "I told you. We're all real. We're here to help everyone." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "We'll get you out of there."

Something seemed to break and Cullen's tone was full of bitterness. "Maker knows, there's nothing left to save. My brothers," he motioned to the bodies around him, "they died. The sounds coming from the chamber-" He stopped and shook his head. "No, nothing is left to save. They couldn't have survived. They've all become abominations, you must kill them!"

Sten's voice rumbled behind her. "He speaks truly. They are only mages. It will be no great loss to kill them."

Valene whirled to face the towering qunari. His face was passive, emotionless. "It will be no great loss? Then why do you follow a mage? Why do you follow me?"

Sten's face stayed as still as an undisturbed pond. "You freed me. You seek to end the Blight." Sten could not say it, but he had no other place to go.

Valene growled at the qunari. "And killing mages will only lose valuable allies against the Blight." Sten shrugged.

"You're not seriously thinking of neutralizing the Circle, are you?" Wynne's voice was hard.

"No, of course I'm not, Wynne." Valene returned her gaze to Cullen. "I am going to end what Uldred brought about, and I'm not going to kill any more than I must."

Cullen cackled like a madman. "Then they will come back, they will lurk beneath the surface and strike again. You doom us all with your mercy!"

Alistair shook his head in pity. "His hatred is so intense, it blinds him to all other possibilities." A thought turned his stomach. _That could have been me_.

A piercing wail echoed down the stair case. Everyone's eyes looked upwards. "We end this. Now." Valene set off up the stairs.

Cullen watched them ascend. As they neared the top he called to them. "You make a mistake, _Warden_." The title was a taunt. "They must all die or their evil will spread!" There was no response. Shaking his head, Cullen sat down and closed his eyes. _This is what you get for wanting a mage_. He would never be tempted to betray his vows again.

* * *

Morrigan sat at a dirty wooden table in a dingy little tavern. There was a mug of... something. The bartender claimed it was wine, but it smelled like a midden heap. She nudged it away. He'd also said there were decent rooms to be had, but Morrigan didn't believe that claim either. Leliana was telling stories to the tavern's few patrons, all of them men. While she usually didn't tolerate such nonsense it certainly kept the cretin's eyes off of her and even earned a bit of coin. _Such fools_. _They are as all men: entranced by anything with breasts_. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, supremely bored.

Morrigan's eyes widened as she felt a ripple of magic. She sat up in her chair. Leliana glanced at her, casting an inquisitive look that lasted mere moments before she returned to the tale. Morrigan stood and walked to the door, using every skill she'd learned in the wilds to remain quiet. She did not wish anyone to follow her.

Leliana's skill held their attention and Morrigan found her opinion of the Maker-besotted woman increase slightly. _She is not quite as useless as she appears_. Perhaps Valene had been right to accept her, as reluctant as that had been. Morrigan slipped outside. It was dark, and the moon shone brightly over the black waters. The Tower of Magi rose in the distance. Morrigan still found the phallus-shaped Tower amusing, particularly in light of the vows of chastity Templars professed.

Morrigan's pale gold eyes almost glowed in the darkness. She studied the Tower silently. It gave off power, but that was to be expected. What she had felt earlier was different from that, an alteration. Something was going on. She was certain of it. _If something is wrong, it would be a simple task for me to acquire Mother's Grimoire_. Getting across did not seem to be a problem. That idiot Templar at the docks hadn't needed much convincing to cross the lake. He was back now, standing in the exact same spot. _Such a well-trained hound of the Chantry_. Morrigan huffed in annoyance. The Chantry's idiot Templars were the exact reason she was apprehensive about making the journey over. One would be delightful fun, three approached a challenge, but an entire tower full of them was beyond even her abilities. And if there was something wrong, as she strongly suspected, they were likely to be more hostile than usual.

Morrigan pursed her lips. All of that knowledge lay somewhere in there, but she was uncertain it was worth the risk.

A slight flash from the Tower's uppermost chambers caught Morrigan's eye. Moments later another ripple of power washed over her. It was decided then. She would wait. No use stumbling into something that was already well underway.

Morrigan shook her head. "'Tis a fool's errand, anyway." _I'll find out whatever Mother has hidden soon or later_. Sooner would, of course, be preferable.

* * *

Valene followed Sten and Wynne as they made their slow progression down the stairs. Irving was between them. Most of his weight rested on Sten, but Wynne was lending her talents with healing, exhausted though she was. Despite all he had been through, he looked as though he would live. Much of the abuse had been mental. Uldred had not been a fool – he knew Irving's body could take little in the way of punishment, and Uldred had needed the First Enchanter alive. He was dead now, along with those he had persuaded. _And some he had not._

As they neared the bottom of the staircase, Valene realized something was different from their ascent. Cullen was gone. Her mind immediately turned to the mages and children they had left near the doors. She fought the urge to run and warn them. If his cage had dissipated the moment Uldred died, he would nearly be there. Still, there was no reason to delay Irving's progress. If he continued at his pained pace, it would take almost an hour to wind through the maze created by the abominations' destruction.

"Sten, we need to get Irving to the Knight Commander as quickly as possible." She didn't bother phrasing her need in a question or request. Sten would be more likely to respond to a command.

"We are moving as quickly as his state allows." Wynne's voice was annoyed. Sten remained silent.

"Sten, I need you to carry Irving down." She saw the qunari stop. She had hit a nerve.

He turned around slowly. "Warden, I hardly think that will make a difference in the outcome of anything here." He was refraining from stating his opinion. Highly unusual. Perhaps her earlier outburst had prompted an attempt at politeness. She wanted nothing to do with it.

"It could mean fewer innocent lives lost. Carry him." _That's an order_. The words were unspoken. She only wanted to evoke his honor, not question it.

Sten's mouth tightened. His voice remained as unfeeling as ever. "Very well." He picked up the frail elderly man in his arms. There was no protest.

"Wynne, you and Sten get to the door as quickly as possible. Tell Knight-Commander Greagoir what has happened. And be wary: Cullen is gone."

Wynne opened her mouth as if to speak but remained silent. She nodded, sighing heavily. "We'll be careful. Are you not coming with us?"

Valene shook her head. "No, I have something I need to do, first. Alistair, go with them. It will be better if they have your Templar talents."

"Uh, no. My "talents" aren't any use against Templars." _Just mages._ Alistair didn't like being an afterthought in all this. "Don't you think wandering off by yourself is a very bad idea? Considering the state of the Tower?"

Valene shrugged. "If there is a stray abomination or two, I'm certain I can handle myself." She turned and started off, heading away from the stairs.

Wynne shook her head. "Go with her. She's not thinking clearly." Alistair raised his eyebrows.

"She's serious, you know. She _could_ handle two abominations just fine." Wynne just glared at him. "Fine, fine, I'll go. You better catch up with Sten though." Alistair smiled as Wynne turned and started running. She hadn't realized the qunari had already started off. Shaking his head, he set off in the direction Valene had taken.

Alistair frowned at the empty hall. There were four chambers leading off from each and the place was such a maze he couldn't remember which one held the body of Valene's friend. He couldn't imagine she was headed anywhere else. He stepped into the first room. The floor was littered with Templar corpses. Not that one.

_If I remember, it was a bit further down the hall..._ He glanced in the second room. Nothing alive in there either. The third was just as empty and he began to worry. What if something did happen and she was overwhelmed? The thought alarmed him and he jogged towards the final room.

The door was slightly open and he could hear a voice speaking softly. He nudged the door open enough to squeeze in.

Valene was kneeling next to the body of the elven woman. One hand was on the woman's forehead, the other clasped a mangled hand. Valene was speaking quietly to her, almost too low for him to make out the words. He could catch words here and there, but he didn't want to intrude any further. The scene was deeply intimate and he found himself wishing he'd gone with Wynne.

"Thank you... strong for you... didn't deserve..." Scattered words reached his ears. It wasn't a prayer to the Maker or part of the Chant, but it was more reverent and sincere than anything he'd heard in his years at the Chantry.

He waited, silent as the moments passed. He couldn't help feeling admiration for his fellow Warden. Despite the horror and despair of the Tower she had stayed strong and even in her grieving she possessed self-control. Duncan had chosen well.

Her soft voice stopped and Alistair looked up. Valene was cradling the woman in her arms trying to stand and take what was left of her friend away from the corruption and death. She struggled with the weight, half-standing, before dropping to her knees again. Her eyes watered as frustration formed her features.

Alistair spoke softly. "Valene, let me carry her." It was the least he could do after all she had done for him since that night in the Tower of Ishal.

His voice seemed to surprise her. She looked up at him, her brow now furrowed in confusion. "Alistair? What are you doing here? I thought you went with Sten."

He shook his head and took a step towards her. "Wynne wanted me to follow you. To make sure you stayed safe." _I wanted to make sure you stayed safe_.

Valene nodded quickly. She looked as if she was suppressing her grief once more. "I can't lift her, but I can't leave her here like this. She didn't deserve this death." Her grey eyes met his. "I can't explain..." She trailed off.

Alistair crossed the room and knelt next to the torn body. "You don't have to." Picking her up in his arms, he stood. She was heavier than he would have thought, as the terrible weight of death seemed to pull her down. He shifted the body gently, and the woman's pale face rested against his chest. "Let's go."

Valene smiled sadly, her eyes shining with gratitude as she nodded. They began the walk down the tower, silence their only companion.

* * *

"Greagoir, I'm deeply grateful for your decision to forgo the Rite of Annulment, but you must see reason. Cullen is not the man he was. Whatever Uldred and the others did to him, he is insane and needs rest. It's not safe for him to stay here!" Valene's voice raised in pitch as her panic grew. _He can't leave Cullen loose around a Tower full of mages_!

"Valene, I understand your life was here, but Circle business is no longer any concern of yours." Irving's protest shocked her into momentary silence.

Greagoir turned to her. "Whatever your intentions in this matter, I cannot bring myself to trust you. Whatever Irving says, you were still involved with the escape of a blood mage and you insist on protecting that woman, despite the duty of myself and the Templars to take care of her kind!"

Valene flinched as she saw Alistair turn toward her and arched an eyebrow. She hadn't told him about Jowan. Her decision to send for Morrigan and Leliana had been largely out of a need for help. They had arrived around mid-morning and everyone would leave the following day. For now, however, Morrigan's knowledge of herbs and healing would prove useful, and Leliana's experience as a lay sister would suffice to service the souls of men. The Reverend Mother had not survived.

Her head pounded. She hadn't slept in over a day and rest was a long way off. She still had Therien's pyre to see to and needed to discuss aid in the Blight with Irving. "Knight-Commander, I do not wish to challenge your authority or your judgment. Morrigan has only proven herself to be an asset thus far, and she has agreed to refrain from using magic to heal, as you requested." She was irked by having to play the submissive mage once more, especially after Greagoir and his Templars had so quickly chosen annihilation over salvation. _Cowards, protected by the righteous surety of the Chantry_. "Please understand my concern. Anyone submitted to such torture would suffer scars for it and his are particularly deep. Just... please, watch him. He has been hurt in unimaginable ways."

Greagoir's almost smirked, his full of scorn. "Yes, you of all people would say that about Cullen."

Valene clenched her hands in anger, but Irving spoke before she could respond. "Greagoir, enough! She has helped, as have her friends. She saved your men as much as she saved mages." Irving stepped forward and took Valene's arm. "Come, we have much to discuss."

Valene nodded, too upset and exhausted to put up a fight. "Yes. But may we go outside? This Tower..." She shook her head. "I need fresh air."

Morrigan watched as the First Enchanter and Valene strode down the hall to the Tower doors. The man she was crouched over whimpered. She turned to him, applying a healing poultice to his wound, taking no special care to be gentle. She itched to use magic. It would be so much simpler, so much _cleaner_ than slapping on herbs and waiting for days. She could have applied something more potent, something that would only have taken a few hours, but she was not going to waste her precious resources on blind Chantry fools. She was in a Tower full of Templars and out of self-preservation she had promised to use no magic, and they would all know if she did. Tying off a bandage roughly the man groaned again. Morrigan rolled her eyes in disgust. "Oh, don't be such a child. 'Tis nothing." She turned to a small basin of water and scrubbed her hands until they were clean.

Standing up, Morrigan quickly looked around the hallway. It was full of mages and Templars, but all of them were injured. Most of the rooms were too disordered and covered in corruption to be of use. Smiling to herself, she began to search out the stairs. She knew the self-important Templar had no men to spare to be wasted spying on her. She had all the time in the world to hunt.


	8. Chapter 7

They were heading north. True to her word, Valene had kept the whole party in the Tower only for a day before leaving. The First Enchanter had given his word to aid against the Blight, and had done so more willingly than she would have expected with so many of the mages dead. It had been one less battle for her to fight. Wynne had insisted on joining them, claiming she could do more good out in the world. Valene shook her head as she remembered. She had no fight with Wynne, but she was not entirely certain what another mage could add. True, her healing was useful, particularly with the frequent darkspawn attacks, but it was another mouth to feed. Her insistence on the continued wearing of her mage robes vexed Valene. They weren't at all practical for travel and they were far too bright – an easy target for a bandit's arrow. Alistair said that the attacks were partly because of the Blight, but the rest was the Taint in them. Just as Grey Wardens could sense the darkspawn, the darkspawn could sense them. Valene was getting better at feeling them out; at Ostagar, it had only been a vague sensation of an impending threat. Now she could tell which direction they were and the relative size of the group. She still couldn't figure out exact numbers, but she was beginning to realize she could sense the size of them. Thinking on it too much made her shudder.

They had been traveling for three days and expected to reach the crossroads sometime this afternoon. The dwarven merchant had stayed with them, leaving when they did and arriving in camp an hour or two after they had stopped. Despite traveling a longer portion of the day, Bodahn and his son didn't have to walk as everyone else did. Or kill anything.

Even with the addition of Wynne, the group seemed to be getting along better than it had previously. Valene had no illusions about the Senior Enchanter making a difference. It was entirely due Morrigan's drastic change in attitude. The woman had gone from biting and sarcastic to a state that could only be described as supremely pleased with herself. She had also taken to disappearing inside her tent the moment it was pitched, leaving only to grab a meal before returning. The timing was extremely suspect. The Tower was full of objects and books that were powerful, many of them were kept stored and carefully locked, but Morrigan was formidable. _She couldn't have used magic, though..._ Valene sighed. She'd have to ask.

Valene called for a rest. It was midday and she was ravenous. Food would have to wait. Morrigan was already slinking off to try and hide behind a tree. Valene frowned. _What _is_ she hiding?_

Valene approached Morrigan quietly. The woman was sitting on the ground, back pressed to a tree, shoulders hunched as she stared intently at her lap. Squinting, she could just make out a shape that looked the corner of a book. Valene's eyes narrowed in anger, now. She had not seen Morrigan with a book before their visit to the Circle.

"Morrigan?" Valene tried to keep her voice steady and calm, but heard the slight waver as she spoke.

_Bloody woman, what is she doing here?_ Morrigan quickly shut the book, trying to slip it to one side. "What is it?" She didn't need to feign annoyance.

"Where did you get that book?" Valene was next to the wilder now, arms folded across her chest.

Morrigan fixed Valene with a careless gaze. "'Tis no business of yours."

The gaze was returned with a look of disapproval. "It is if you have removed something from the Tower. Particularly if you removed it without anyone's knowledge." _As if your pride would let you ask_.

Morrigan remained silent in an attempt to draw the power of the conversation to herself. She had never thought the other mage stupid, after all, she was much smarter than Alistair as well as a competent mage. However, Morrigan had not counted on her being particularly observant, especially after the Tower. She had hoped to study the tome enough to find something useful before any of the others managed to notice anything different. So far she'd only found strange instances for the preparation of "subjects," as the book called them. It would take at least a week of additional study to fully read the tome and longer still to successfully utilize what powers it held.

Valene's foot tapped once. Morrigan smiled at the sign of impatience. She may not have an immediately useful reason for the tome, but she did have one Valene would feel compelled to agree with. Letting out a sigh, as if defeated, Morrigan lowered her eyes. The smile stayed in place. "I removed the book, 'tis true. However," Morrigan arched an eyebrow before Valene could speak. "I have a valid claim to it as my own."

_I can't wait to hear this one_, Valene thought. It seems it had a mistake to bring her to the Tower, after all, particularly since Greagoir had waited until Morrigan's arrival to renege on his promises of Templar assistance. Interested in the justification Morrigan would offer, Valene motioned for the woman to continue.

"This is no simple book of spells or history. This book is Flemeth's Grimoire. 'Tis the only thing that had ever gotten out of her hands and she has spoken of its loss with great rage." Morrigan's expression was all bemusement. "She would not wish me to have it, so I have begun my study. I shall learn the things Mother did not wish me to know."

The explanation had an annoying ring of truth, though Morrigan's delivery was far more irritating than its substance. Morrigan speaking to her as if she were a small, stupid child grated on her nerves. The pleased look on her face did nothing to improve Valene's mood. "And you did not think to request its return to you?"

Morrigan laughed heartily. "Oh, no! Your silly little Tower mages would have claimed to be too busy and then I would have been watched. If Alistair is any indication, the Templars would have been easily fooled, but why take the chance? 'Twas a simple thing to find, in truth. Flemeth's magic is so different from yours and the Towers, different still from that of the abominations. I simply had to walk the Tower slowly and pay attention." In truth, the grimoire had almost called to her. That was likely a spell of Flemeth's construction. It had been sealed as well, but gave little resistance. Morrigan could only assume it was attuned to Flemeth's power and had been easily tricked into accepting hers as the same. Morrigan had been surprised, if pleased, that the tome had given way so easily.

Valene eyed Morrigan coolly. She knew that Morrigan had no cause to lie, nor would she truly care what Valene thought of her if the truth was worse. They were far enough away that there was no chance of returning the tome, and even had they been half a day from the Tower, they both knew Valene wouldn't have delayed over a single book, particularly with a Blight to face. "Very well, Morrigan. You have your mother's grimoire. Let me know if anything you find may be of use."

Morrigan's mouth gaped slightly as she watched Valene walk away. She had expected more of a fight. She found it strange that the mage trusted her, remaining cool towards her even when defending Morrigan's actions or presence. Morrigan had little experience in interacting with other humans, but in the past she had always been able to rely on two consistent emotions: mistrust and fear. Valene displayed neither, and had even treated her magic abilities and skill with herbs with great respect. Morrigan felt a slight twinge of guilt at her treatment of the Tower mage over the past weeks. The woman had been through much and managed not only to carry on, but lead and do what was needed. It was an admirable quality.

Returning Flemeth's Grimoire to her lap, Morrigan traced a finger along the tree pressed into the leather cover. The tome was a curious thing, but not quite so curious as the Tower mage who treated an apostate with respect. _Curious indeed_.

* * *

Valene's right shoulder throbbed painfully. The shaft of an arrow jutted out from her body, just under the collarbone. A cold, biting wind was bearing down from Gherien's pass, fluttering the arrow's white fletching.

"Valene, we need to get that out right now. I can heal you as soon as it's removed." Wynne muttered as she finished healing Sten. The qunari had been caught in a leg trap and tried to pull free, damaging the leg further. His discomfort at being touched by magic was obvious, but he did not protest.

Morrigan nodded in agreement. "I can assist. I do not have Wynne's talent, but I can certainly help." Her pale gold eyes swept over the gory scene, cool and unalarmed.

Valene motioned to Leliana with her good arm. "Come with me. We need to see if there are any survivors. Wynne, if that Antivan is alive, heal him enough to talk, but not enough to try anything fancy." Leliana nodded. She had a talent for spying traps and tripwires, and was capable of disarming them as well. _Odd talents for a lay sister_.

The attack had come as a surprise. After over a week's travel they had arrived at Gherien's pass, the beginning of the long, climbing road that would take them to the gates of Orzammar. The day had started cold and windy, the mountains funneling the air through cliffs and valleys in an attempt to freeze them in their tracks. The wind had made travel miserable, and all of them had been less alert. The disheveled woman breaking from the bushes has startled all of them equally. Valene remembered her pleas for help vividly. _"Please, darkspawn attacked the caravan! Please help us!" _Valene and the others had set off at a jog. Even Wynne had kept pace, certain her talents would be needed. They had gone no more than a hundred paces before rounding a bend in the road. Three oxen lay slaughtered and two wagons were overturned, one blazing slightly. The frightened woman had slowed her pace as she approached a lightly-armored elf, the hilts of daggers protruding over each shoulder. The sight had given all of them pause. It was then the elf chose to spoke.

_"Ah, my dear Grey Wardens. Someone is very unhappy you are alive."_ The man's accent was pure Antivan, and his tone was pleasant. His eyes had sparkled with anticipation and he had worn a smile. This was a man that relished being an assassin. He gave a slight bow. _"The Antivan Crows send their regards."_ He gave a slight nod and a loud crack had set the party in motion as a large boulder crashed down one of the small cliffs on the side of the ravine, landing where they had stood only moments before. They had been trapped as neatly as mice.

Things had happened so suddenly from there. The woman had grabbed a staff and started casting. The man with the daggers had rushed towards them and more than half a dozen archers had emerged on the short cliffs, while three large, heavily armored men appeared from behind the overturned carts. It was an ambush and they were outnumbered.

The battle had been difficult, particularly with the archers. Leliana had immediately started on them and Morrigan joined with her, the two working in unison until their chosen target had fallen. Valene had wanted to focus on the mage, hoping to kill her quickly, but the elven Antivan had begun bearing down on her almost immediately. Sten had rushed forward, swinging his massive sword, but the Antivan had dodged the deadly swing. His steps to avoid Sten's sword had brought him in Alistair's path, however, and Alistair wasted no time. He had lashed out with his shield, hitting the man square in the chest. The elf had gasped, the wind knocked out of him. Valene had used those few precious moments to focus on the mage. The other woman was not as talented nor as well-trained. Valene cast a spell on her, petrifying the woman where she stood. It was then the arrow had struck her shoulder. Valene knew the archers would kill her before the mage or the man with the daggers. Three had fallen under Morrigan and Leliana, but two more had appeared behind them.

Valene had called to Sten, directing him to the mage. His greatsword had flashed through the air, catching the morning sun in a deadly glare. Metal connected with stone flesh and the woman had shattered. The mage dispatched, Sten had begun the charge up the path. A loud snap rang out and the qunari had disappeared from her view with a cry of rage.

Alistair was still locked in battle with the Antivan. The man was dexterous, but not strong. Alistair was strong, but not quick. Daggers lashed out, aiming for the sides, hoping to cut and bleed. Alistair's shield had protected his left side, while his word had parried the dagger thrusts to his right.

Wynne had done what she could. She was persistent, but her skills were not for battle and killing. Her constant attacks picked away at their enemies though, the jets of magic draining their strength and will. The arrows still flew, but less thickly than before, and with less purpose.

Valene had killed an archer when she heard a cry. Alistair's deadly dance had finally resulted in a blow. Blood flowed from a wound to his side. Death flashed in the eyes of the Antivan. Ignoring the wood embedded in her flesh, Valene had cast a cold spell. It had been enough. Alistair lunged with his sword, the wound flowing more freely. His blade ran the Antivan through, the sword piercing the man's gut. Using his shield, Alistair pushed the man off of his sword. He fell to the grown, skin icy save for the warm red blood that bubbled like a spring.

The end of the battle had been heralded by Sten's cry of frustration and pain as he tried to pull free from the trap. Leliana and Valene had rushed over as Wynne tended to Alistair's wounds, healing them quickly. They had not been overly deep and the cut had been straight. Little had been damaged in the exchange.

Valene returned her attention to the present. Four archers lay dead on the southern cliff side where she and Leliana now stood. The bodies were clad in leather armor of middling quality. It wasn't poorly made, but it wasn't of exceptional quality, either. _Well, it's useless now_. Leliana hadn't missed once, and was collecting her arrows, along with whatever coin or health poultices she found. She also seemed to be collecting any daggers or small trinkets that could be sold for coin. Valene glanced over the edge. It gave an excellent vantage point for any highwaymen. The Antivan's words had indicated this encounter was no accident, however.

Wynne called up at Valene. "The elf is alive, but unconscious. Now please, let me heal you." The older mage's voice was colored with annoyance.

"Leliana, check the other cliff. You know what you need to do." The woman nodded.

Her shoulder throbbed painfully again and Valene started back down the short trail to the road. Morrigan and Wynne were waiting at the bottom, Wynne's arms crossed over her chest in thinly-veiled frustration. Valene couldn't help a slight smile. "Really, Wynne, can you blame me for waiting?" The arrow would have to be pulled out before the healing could begin.

* * *

Alistair stood over the unconscious Antivan elf, glaring. He could understand the need for information, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy the fact the man was still alive. He had been a challenging opponent, but in the end, Alistair had the feeling he wasn't used to facing opponents in fair combat. The elf had continually tried to flank him, but Alistair had trained to deny an opponent that opportunity. _All that Templar training was good for something._

"Damn it, Wynne, do you have to keep twisting it like that?" Valene's voice was a deep growl. Alistair had decided to stay away once he realized he wasn't needed. Sten and Morrigan were holding the mage down while Wynne worked to remove the arrow.

Wynne's voice carried on the wind, soft, but firm. "The bone is in the way. I am doing my best." Alistair shuddered. He could handle getting sliced, hacked, cut or clubbed, but something about arrows gave him the creeps. The thought of something lodging in your flesh was a bit too much. A small groan at his feet drew Alistair's attention back to the Antivan.

"Uh, my head." The elf's accent was thick and slurred with the grogginess of a concussion. Alistair smiled. It seemed as though Wynne had managed to heal the life-threatening bits and left the simply painful alone. The Antivan raised a hand to his eyes, trying to shield against the sun as he studied Alistair. "I thought I would wake up dead. Or not at all, if that is what death is like."

Alistair grunted noncommittally. "Yes, well I don't have anything to do with it. The other Grey Warden seems to want you for information however. For now, you live." Alistair couldn't say what they'd do with the man after they got the information they needed. Killing someone in battle was one thing, but he wasn't sure he could kill one in cold blood. _Valene might, particularly after that arrow._

As if his thoughts had spurred Wynne to action, a short, pained cry sounded from the huddle of people. Alistair couldn't help glancing over. Sten and Morrigan were sitting back now and Wynne's hands were surrounded in a blue glow. The glow lasted almost a minute before fading away. Wynne nodded, a satisfied look on her face. "It is done."

Valene sat up, her armor stained with blood. Alistair knew she'd be upset over having to find another replacement set. While it was probably an easy repair she'd proven strangely finicky about having damaged armor, even if it was only leather. _Lucky we're going to Orzammar. All they do is fight and drink, so there's got to be someone capable of making armor there. The only question is whether or not we can find someone sober enough_. Standing up, the mage shrugged her shoulder and shook her arm experimentally, nodding in satisfaction. Healing done, she immediately began approaching Alistair and the elf, Sten flanking her closely, his sword still drawn. Morrigan remained kneeling while Leliana walked up to assist Wynne, her task of looting complete.

The Antivan was in a sitting position now, his face scrunched in pain and confusion as he blinked repeatedly. Alistair almost pitied the man – he'd had no idea what he was getting himself into by tempting Valene's wrath. Alistair's pity was, however, not fully realized. He was looking forward to the exchange.

"Alistair, I find myself in need of your gauntlet." She flexed her newly-healed hand and arm and nodded. "The right one." Valene's eyes blazed with anger. Alistair quickly complied, trying to hide his smile. This was going to be good. Tossing her own leather glove on the ground, Valene pulled the splintmail gauntlet over her arm. It was far too large, but Alistair had a feeling that Valene wasn't concerned with the fit.

Valene crouched in front of the elf and began to talk, her voice brisk and edged with anger. "Now, Antivan, you are going tell me what I wish to know. If you try to escape, I will kill you. If you try to hurt me, I will kill you. If you try to harm any of my friends, I will kill you. If I think you're lying to me, I'll kill you. And if I do kill you, believe me, it won't be quick." Valene flexed her newly-gauntleted hand and delivered her last line through gritted teeth. "Do I make myself absolutely clear?"

The elf nodded in understanding. Alistair was surprised to see no fear in the Antivan's face. _I must have hit his head harder than I realized_. Alistair was feeling a bit jumpy after Valene's performance and it hadn't even been directed at him. The Antivan immediately began to speak. "My name is Zevran, I am-"

Zevran's uninvited information was met with a swift punch to the jaw. Valene wasn't particularly strong, but you didn't need to be strong with a metal gauntlet, you merely needed to connect with your target and she had done that beautifully. _That is definitely going to leave a mark_. Alistair thought it might improve the elf's delicate face. _Maybe she'll go for the nose next..._

"I didn't ask you your name. You will answer my questions or you will not speak, is that understood.?" Again, a nod from the elf, though this time there was fear and pain in his expression. "I need to know three things. Who you are, who sent you and why you were supposed to kill me. Now, begin. And be quick."

Zevran eyed her hand as if it were a poisonous viper. As he spoke, his eyes never moved. "My name is Zevran Arainai and I am an assassin for the Antivan Crows." Valene held up one finger and Zevran flinched at the movement. Alistair smiled. "I was sent by a rather stern fellow in Denerim. I believe his name was Loghain." A second finger raised brought another flinch. Alistair grinned; this was proving far more enjoyable than he had originally hoped for. "I was sent to kill any remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I was sent to kill you."

Valene stood up and crossed her arms, stepping a few paces back from the Crow. He visibly relaxed at the temporary disappearance of the gauntleted fist. "I can't say I'm surprised Loghain would send someone else to do his dirty work. Now, Antivan, you have answered my three questions. You have given me the very information that required you live. Convince me why I shouldn't kill you now."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up and the grin he'd been wearing dropped off of his face. _She isn't going to kill him?_ Alistair didn't like the idea of an assassin that had been aimed at them joining their little party. "Valene, are you sure this is a good idea?"

Valene simply raised a hand to signal silence, keeping her eyes trained on the assassin. Zevran's brown eyes regarded her with a mixture of fear and apprehension. At her nod he began his plea.


	9. Chapter 8

_AN: Leorah is never seen in the Mages Tower in the game, even after it is cleared, so in this story I assume she was among those killed._ _Thanks for following and feedback!_

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Alistair sat by the fire, eyeing the sleeping form next to Sten's tent. The assassin had sworn an oath and Valene had accepted. He couldn't figure out why, though a small voice in his head noted the others she'd picked up. She had at least put the elf to work, however, so there was that. Alistair's armor was newly polished, as was Sten's. The hole in Valene's armor had been painstakingly stitched together and the blood had been scrubbed away. For a highly-trained assassin, he'd proven remarkably adept at such menial chores. Alistair wasn't sure the elf wouldn't try anything, but he had a feeling the man would at least wait until the bruises went away. Valene had not been at all pleased by Zevran calling her a "deadly sex goddess" while he begged for his life and had expressed her displeasure with not one, but _two_ gauntleted punches. The memory made Alistair chuckle.

Stretching his feet towards the fire to warm them, Alistair pulled out a small linen bag of dried apples. He'd already had dinner along with the rest, but his stomach felt half-empty. He'd pilfered some dried meat and a hunk of yellow cheese from the stores as well. It wasn't anything fancy, but so long as he wasn't compelled to chew on his armor's leather straps, he had no complaints. Valene was over by the merchant's wagon, getting some food herself. This had been their nightly ritual since they had first met the merchant. They'd eat and clean up with the others, pitch tents, clean armor and she'd typically round the perimeter once or twice before she joined him by the fire. Alistair had begun to feel more than simple friendship for her, and tonight he felt like he'd worked up enough courage to hint at that. He glanced down at his pack. In Lothering he'd picked a rose and he'd hauled it around in his pack since then. It was mostly dead, but relatively intact. The petals, initially a bright pink, had deepened to a color he though suited Valene better. _If she doesn't laugh at you_. He still wasn't entirely sure she was the type to enjoy a pretty flower. He shifted nervously as she finished up near the wagon and walked towards him.

She sat down next to him and slung a skin off of her shoulder, flashing him a mischievous smile. "Did you know Bodhan has been hiding wine all this time and hadn't told us?" Alistair quirked an eyebrow. She was uncharacteristically chirpy.

"Nooo... I wasn't aware." He kept trying to catch her eye, but she was staring at the fire. She reached for the skin and pulled out the cork before taking a draft. She blinked and spluttered slightly as she held the skin out to him. He took the skin from her and drank. It burned going down and he coughed. "This isn't wine..."

Valene shook her head. "Ugh, no it isn't! I must have grabbed the wrong skin. I could have sworn it was this one." She tossed the cork to Alistair with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, it's just been a long day and-" she paused, shaking her head. "I don't feel like I'm doing anything right. Particularly after today."

Alistair closed the skin and set it aside. The pack caught his eye. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. Not about today, I mean, about things so far." He reached down and opened the pack. He could feel Valene watching him. Gently grasping the flower he removed it from the pack and held it out to her. "Here. Do you know what this is?"

The moment the words were from his mouth he cursed himself. _You idiot, she's not blind, she knows what a bloody rose looks like._ She blinked at him, surprised. "A rose, unless you have other plans for it?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean – it's a rose. I picked it in Lothering. I probably should have left it there, but it was something beautiful amidst all the despair and ugliness." Alistair sighed. "I want you to have it. I know it's dead by now, I'd meant to give it to you earlier, but I hadn't, well, I just hadn't." _Hadn't had the courage. _"Please, take it?"

Valene reached for the rose, taking it carefully to avoid pricked fingers. He could see her cheeks reddening. "Alistair, thank you. I don't quite know what to say." She kept her eyes on the flower, avoiding his gaze.

"It just made me think of you. We've already gone through so much fighting and heartache and you've listened to me night after night. I just thought I'd tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are amidst all the darkness." _There, I said it_. Alistair was almost certain she'd politely excuse herself to bed and laugh over the whole encounter in the privacy of her tent.

She remained quiet, turning the rose over in her hands. The fire crackled, the noise almost deafening. Alistair realized he was holding his breath and exhaled.

"Thank you." Her voice was a whisper. She laid the rose gently in her lap and turned to him. "For everything." He could see her eyes glistening with tears. He reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand.

"Are you alright?" He kept his voice soft. While the others were in bed and Leliana was on watch, he didn't want to draw attention from anyone still awake. This was too close, too private. "I can't imagine going through what you did at the Tower. I know I was there, but - " Her jaw quivered against his palm as her eyes fell. She shook her head. Alistair moved closer and wrapped an arm around her. _Maker, I didn't mean to make her cry_.

Valene leaned against him for support. She remained silent, but he could feel her body shake as she cried. He wanted to kiss her and tell her everything would be alright, but he knew he couldn't lie and he would never take advantage of someone so distraught. She stayed so strong and cold each day it was alarming to see her this way. Unsure what to do he simply remained quiet and held her.

It was she who broke the silence. "I was seventeen..."

* * *

Valene found herself speaking of things she'd long suppressed. She told Alistair not just of Rolan, but of Therien, of the strange silence that surrounded the names of all who never returned from the Harrowing. She spoke of her grief over Niall and Leorah, and she spoke of Irving. She spoke of the memory of arriving and the shame in her parents' eyes the last time she had seen them. Her voice never rose above a whisper, but the words came in a torrent. She hated herself for being so weak, but once started she couldn't stop. Finally, she reached the day after her Harrowing.

"I had just gone from the First Enchanter's office and walked Duncan to his room. My friend, Jowan came to me, begging for help. He'd fallen in love with a Chantry priest and they wanted to escape somewhere they could marry – they wanted to escape that day since Jowan had been approved for the Rite of Tranquility. He trusted me and I refused to help them." Fresh guilt washed through her. "I went to Irving and told him what was planned. He asked me to assist them, to score a point against Greagoir and the Chantry by implicating Lilly, the priest." She hated herself for what she had done. Even then, the guilt had been too much and she had confessed to her friend once his phylactery had been broken. "I did as he asked. I confessed before they tried to leave, before they found Greagoir and Irving and half a dozen Templars staring them down." She remembered Jowan's rage and hate. "Jowan used blood magic to escape. Lily would not go with him, so he ran alone, with no way to be tracked." Valene closed her eyes and sighed. "Duncan was there too. He recruited me then. Greagoir was furious and convinced I had done more than Irving asked..." She sagged against Alistair's chest. She had no more words.

Alistair spoke for the first time since she had begun, his voice quiet and understanding. "Now I know why Duncan chose you." Valene pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, eyes full of worry. Alistair just smiled at her. "I thought it was because you were talented and competent, because you had the strength to lead. Those are all qualities that would have drawn him to you, but that is not why. He knew you would do the right thing, no matter what else faced you. You showed you had the strength to sacrifice your friendships to do what had to be done."

Valene's eyes widened. She'd worried Duncan had thought her a traitor, she'd feared he thought less of her for betraying a friend. The fact she'd never been able to prove otherwise to him had haunted her more than Jowan's anger-filled expression. If Alistair was right... "Are you certain?" She realized her voice was hoarse and her throat was sore. She had lost track of the time, but the nearly-dead fire told her plenty.

Alistair looked at her with understanding and care. "I'm certain. He chose well."

For the first time since leaving for Ostagar, Valene felt relief. She had come to accept what she had done to Jowan, but she had remained unsure of herself. Alistair's reassurance after she had spilled her life out in words, after she confessed to her role as betrayer and loyalist... The rose in her lap caught her eye and she felt something inside her shift. Alistair had shown himself to be so much more than the handsome eyes and warm smile; he was a friend, a confidant, and full of a sort of goodness that drew her to him. More than anything, his concern and help in seeing Therien to a proper end had made Valene see he was much more than she had initially thought. Feelings she had suppressed began to rise to the surface and her face flushed. The feel of his arm around her made her pulse quicken, and an impulse stirred inside her. She didn't know whether to fight it or give in. His gaze caught hers and she crumbled.

* * *

Leliana watched the two wardens from a distance. First watch was long over, but she couldn't bring herself to break the moment. Whatever Valene had said, she was done now. Smiling to herself, Leliana softly began humming a love song as she began yet another patrol of the camp's perimeter. Sleep could wait a little longer.

* * *

Alistair's mind was blank. One moment he'd been losing himself in those grey eyes and the next her mouth was on his. The first kiss had been tentative and light, the next questioning. The third kiss he had finally found himself capable of responding to her. The way her soft lips pressed to his made his breath catch. Now one of her hands was tangled in his hair and his arms were wrapped around her waist. She paused a moment, her mouth still hovering near his. Unable to help himself, he kissed her again as his head spun.

Moments passed before he brought himself to pull away. He took a deep breath and tried to will his heart into slowing down. She wore a soft smile and there was shyness in it, her earlier sadness gone. The orange glow from the dying embers showed only glimpses of her face, but he knew it well enough. "Maker, you're beautiful." He couldn't help himself, she really was.

A snatch of a song carried through the night air. Valene and Alistair looked at each other, eyes wide. They had entirely forgotten about Leliana. He looked up at the sky, noticing the position of the dawn star. It was long past second watch. Valene was already pulling away. He fought the urge to pull her close and kiss her again.

Leliana appeared out of the darkness, a slight silhouette in the dark. Once she reached them she dropped a bundle of sticks near the fire and began to stir the embers. She glanced at Valene quickly, then began to speak, her voice quiet as she returned her attention to the fire. "I wish I could have left you two alone a bit longer, but," Leliana smiled up at him. "I'm afraid I'm badly in need of sleep." Alistair could detect no mockery in her voice. He'd have to thank her later.

Valene nodded quietly. "Yes, it's Morrigan's watch, but seeing as how we're already up..."

Leliana raised a hand. "Do not worry. She will be out in a moment. You two can get some rest." The lay sister winked at Alistair, making him blush hard enough he could feel his ears turn red. Flames suddenly leapt up from the fire and Leliana's face shone with delight. "Now, I'm off to bed." Turning, she ducked into the darkness of her tent.

"We should get some rest as well." The words were out of Alistair's mouth before he thought about them. _Maker, I hope she doesn't take that the wrong way_. Thoughts of the two of them alone flickered into existence and he felt his mouth go dry.

Valene nodded. "I didn't realize it was so late. Thank you for listening to me, Alistair." She leaned forward and kissed his lips one more time. "Sweet dreams."

He could only nod dumbly as she disappeared into her tent. Turning to his own tent he shook his head. He'd be lucky if he slept at all.


	10. Chapter 9

_AN: Hey everyone, thanks again for following and favorites, as well as reviews! I just wanted to note the way I handled the stay in Orzammar. I figured this would make more sense than trudging up to the Frostbacks to camp every day, and I can't see the assembly offering nothing. I also can't see anything "nicer" being an option, despite Duncan stating Grey Wardens usually stay in the Diamond Quarter, since it would likely come across as picking sides given the political atmosphere of the place. References to Zevran as Zev will only occur when a section is from his point of view for a while, so that's the reason for the discrepancy. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

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"You'd let this _traitor_ inside while keeping out an emissary of King Loghain? Do you have no honor?" The man claiming to be Loghain's ambassador to the dwarves was practically shrieking and spittle flew from his mouth with each word. Valene could barely keep her contempt for the man from her face. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Loghain had no interest in making friends, only forcing those he saw as weak into alliances.

She would not let the insult to the dwarven guard go without repercussion, particularly after his agreement to let them in. She knew the dwarves respected the Wardens and had their own constant struggle against darkspawn, Blight or no. "Loghain is truly mad with power if he thinks to command a sovereign people. The dwarves do not answer to Ferelden, but to themselves. Go back to your murderous usurper and tell him the brashness of his emissaries and his cowardly use of assassins does him no credit."

The man's face started turning purple with rage, but the comment about the assassin caught him by surprise. "You will die by Loghain's hand, you traitorous bitch!" Valene remained impassive, but Sten was uncharacteristically angered. The ambassador moved towards Valene, his hand reaching for a dagger, but before he took two steps one of Sten's massive hands was around his throat, lifting the man a few inches off the ground. His legs kicked feebly as he uselessly grasped at Sten's hand in an unsuccessful attempt to free himself. The mage and bodyguard accompanying the emissary drew their weapons ready to attack.

Sten looked to her, his violet eyes cool. Valene nodded and he released the man instantly. Loghain's man collapsed on the ground and clutched at his throat, gasping for air as he tried to crawl away from the qunari.

Valene fixed the man with a cold stare. "Leave." The mage and bodyguard were already helping the ambassador to his feet, half-dragging him away. They said nothing, but kept their eyes on her and the party as they retreated down the steps.

"Ha! You have my thanks, Warden. He's been screeching at me every day for a week." The dwarven guard was grinning with approval. "The Grey Wardens are always welcome in Orzammar. But please, don't think what you see now is the way we always are. We are on the verge of civil war and at our worst."

Valene nodded seriously at the man. "The dwarves have the respect of the Grey Wardens, always." _It couldn't possibly be that bad_.

Great hinges began to creak as the door opened into a hall filled with massive statues. "Well then, welcome to Orzammar, Warden." The guard held out a hand towards the hall.

Eyeing the vaulted stone ceilings Valene took her last breath of surface air and stepped into the darkness.

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"Well, now that we've stumbled into this mess, who are you going to side with?" Alistair had been unhappy to find the lack of a king so crippling when it came to the dwarves aiding in the Blight, but Valene was almost livid. She'd approached both Dulin Forender and Vartag Gavorn to try and gain an audience with Prince Bhelen or Lord Harrowmont and both had claimed they would be unable to help her unless she helped them first. They'd termed it "proving loyalties" but Valene knew both wanted a visible endorsement from the Grey Wardens. The only thing the Assembly had agreed to was granting them a temporarily empty house in the commons as well as some members of the servant caste to see to their needs. Upon seeing Valene's face as she had left the assembly with him, the others had made themselves scarce, choosing the grandeur of Orzammar over her temper, not even bothering to find out where they would be staying. He had remained with Valene, hoping to have a discussion on their course of action, but, based on her constant pacing and angry muttering, that didn't seem to be a possibility just yet.

The most shocking thing had been the fight they'd encountered on the way to the house.

Adding to Alistair's discomfort was the memory of the night by the fire. It had been nearly four days since then, though underground, he had no way of telling time, and Valene had said nothing of it and treated him as she had before. He was beginning to think it was a moment of weakness and he had been conveniently placed, but he hoped that wasn't quite it. On the other hand, it's not as if the road up the mountain had been an ideal place for courting and flirting games. Even the merchant's team of oxen had had difficulties and he had urged them forward, telling them he would stay outside of Orzammar anyways. Alistair found that odd, even suspicious, but Valene, as usual, had not pressed the matter.

"I don't bloody know! They're acting like spoilt children squabbling over the last piece of cake while a darkspawn hoard masses in Ferelden and the archdemon lies in wait." Alistair could tell by the strain in Valene's voice that she was trying very hard not to snap at him. She ran a hand through her deep brown tresses, her fingers leaving an attractively messy head of hair. Alistair tried to pay attention to the task at hand, he truly did, but she was proving exceptionally distracting.

Sighing, he sat down in a chair that was far too low and left him feeling strangely overgrown and gangly. He stretched his legs in front of him and tried to appear calm. "We need to go over our options and talk to people. We need to find out what Bhelen and Harrowmont are like before we can support either one. I know it will take time, but it's been made abundantly clear we will get no help until they have a king." Alistair didn't like the idea of Grey Wardens getting involved in politics, but he supposed their desire to see Loghain pay for his crimes was little different. If a Blight required the Wardens put a king on the dwarven throne, then that was what they must do.

Valene's pacing slowed as he spoke, finally stopping as he finished. She was nodding her head, sighing deeply. "You're right, I'm sorry for getting so worked up over this." She ran a hand through her hair again, drawing his attention to her once more. She gave him an apologetic half-smile. "We might as well go over what little we know from those we've had a chance to speak with already."

Alistair was taken aback. He wasn't used to being taken seriously when it came to things that matters, and he definitely wasn't used to someone following his advice. Nodding dumbly, he gestured to another chair, inviting her to sit as well.

She remained standing and started ticking off what they'd heard during their short time in Orzammar. "We've heard that Bhelen killed one brother and framed the other, that he poisoned his father and is power hungry, but we've no evidence for any of that. We've also heard the prince intends to extend more rights to the casteless and encourage increased trade with the surface. Harrowmont seems to promote isolation and preserving the traditional rigidity of castes, but he also seems the more honorable of the two in terms of trying for the throne due to the late king's request, not for an interest in power." Valene turned to him. "Did I miss anything?"

Alistair shook his head and leaned forward. "No, you didn't, but it still leaves us with the problem of who to support. There's something suspicious about Bhelen, if you ask me, but he does seem to support policies that would be better for common people." Suspicious didn't begin to cover it. The prince was cocky, angry and seemed to think he deserved the throne. Alistair didn't like the man, but he saw reason in his policies. "Harrowmont feels solid and trustworthy, but I can't see him breaking with tradition for the same reason." Letting out a big sigh he fixed her with a wry look. "I'm not helping, am I?"

She laughed. "Not terribly, no, but we have a few days before the Proving will be held. I don't like sitting around, but I'm certain we can dig something more up."

Alistair just nodded. _Should I say something?_ Last time he decided to breech anything she'd ended up crying and spilling her heart out for well over an hour before kissing him. He still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. _Well, the kissing bit was _definitely_ good._ He felt his cheeks flush at the memory and idly wonder if he should feel guilty. Suddenly in need of a drink he stood up, crossing the room to a table that held wine and two finely-crafted silver goblets, left there by one of their servants. The thought of having servants made him slightly uncomfortable, but the people serving had taken immense pride in their tasks, citing this king or that paragon their ancestors had served as they had unbuckled his armor, despite his protests, claiming they couldn't let their charge walk around Orzammar in improperly polished armor or without a properly sharpened sword. Everything was so different here. He'd caught snatches of conversations Valene had held with Bodhan over dwarven society and customs, but it was only enough to confuse him. Even Valene hadn't been able to beg the servants off, however, and had been ushered into a side room, emerging in her mage robes shortly after. He'd never seen her wear them before. He imagined they had fit more snugly before she left the Tower, but they were loose after weeks of travel. Still, they left little to the imagination whenever she took a step and he was grateful they were not as snug as Wynne's robes – he wasn't sure he could've handled himself if that had been the case.

Alistair poured himself wine, eager for a drink to quench the thirst that only worsened as he remembered the way she looked. He was on the verge of walking away from the pitcher when he remembered his manners. "Would you like some wine?" He turned slightly, gesturing towards the pitcher.

"Yes, wine sounds good... as long as it _is_ wine this time around." Valene wore a small smile.

Alistair took a sip of his and clutched at his throat dramatically for a moment before laughing. "Just wine, red and not bad at that. Not... whatever terrible stuff Bodhan was carting around." He filled the other goblet and replaced the pitcher. Taking both of the glasses with him, Alistair held one out to Valene.

"Thank you." Valene reached out to take the goblet, pausing when her hand touched his. Her eyes flicked to him quickly before she took the wine, immediately trying to hide her expression by taking a drink.

He deliberately took a small sip of wine, keeping his eyes on her until she finally met his gaze. Despite her natural talent to lead and her forwardness a few nights ago, he had a feeling that in this... whatever it was, she wasn't going to lead. He wasn't exactly comfortable initiating anything himself, but he couldn't bear not knowing. He would ask.

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Memories of the night she had kissed Alistair flashed in her head. She'd tried to push everything back where it had been before, tried to suppress it, but whatever had happened, it was impossible. The way he was looking at her now made it even more difficult, his eyes staying on her face despite her best efforts to hide in her cup of wine. _What about that kiss makes everything so hard now?_ Aside from the Blight and their oaths, Valene kept remembering Cullen's tone as he'd confessed the shame of his attraction to her, the words etched into her memory. _"Even an elf would have been less shameful. It had to be a _mage._"_ Alistair had Templar training too, and despite every action of his speaking to the contrary, the worry that he'd believed the Chantry's teaching of mages would not leave her be. He hadn't shied away from her that night, true, but both of them had been so wrapped in emotion she knew it would be foolish to expect anything more substantial.

His eyes were on hers and she could see an edge of determination there. "Valene, I need to know something." His voice was low and steady as he moved closer to her, close enough for her to have to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. "Did you mean anything that night or was it something of circumstance?" While it was phrased in a question, Valene had a feeling he wasn't going to let her get away without answering.

_Why can't I read his face?_ He was usually so open and expressive and now... now there was something guarded there and she couldn't discern the meaning. Should she lie and keep things friendly or be honest and risk losing even that? Valene felt her hands quivering with anxiety as she looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. Swallowing hard, she barely found the voice to speak as hot shame flushed her face. "I have grown fond of you and that is why I... acted in the manner I did." _That's why I pushed myself on you as if I were some strumpety village trollop._

Valene braced herself for Alistair's response, ready for rejection. She only had to hold herself together long enough to get through this, and then she could excuse herself to her room. After weeks on the road privacy would be a relief in any case, but Valene had the feeling the ability to close a door to the rest of the world would be exceptionally welcoming after the next few minutes.

The rejection never came. Instead, Alistair simply took her wine goblet back and set it on the table behind him, leaving his there as well. He turned back to her and only whispered "Good," before tangling one of his hands in her hair and covering her mouth with his. Valene felt her knees go weak as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. She could feel his hand clearly through the thin fabric of her robes and the sensation made her shiver.

As quickly as it had begun, the kiss was over, leaving Valene breathless and bewildered, her heart pounding in her chest. Alistair kissed her forehead lightly before drawing back. A wry smile formed on his face. "I guess that's my way of letting you know I've grown fond of you as well. Now, I believe we have things to do?"

Valene nodded, unable to keep from smiling, suddenly feeling less guilty about kissing him. Alistair was holding an arm out to her and giving her an expectant smile. Raising an eyebrow at him she took it slowly, trying to still her smile into a serious face. "Are you to be my escort, then?"

He laughed and shook his head. "No, I'd be a terrible one. I've got no armor, no sword and no idea of where we're going to go. I think I'm finally as useless as Morrigan always claims I am, at least until the servants reappear. And you, my lady mage, are at a disadvantage with that pesky dwarven resistance to magic."

She couldn't help a chuckle. "Right. I think I'll take my staff along just to be certain. I can still smack people with it and, last time I checked, dwarves didn't have any resistance to that sort of thing." Her staff had been the one thing the servants hadn't insisted on cleaning, and she was grateful.

Alistair cocked a wry smile. "If the Assembly is any indication, they have rather thick skulls. You _could _simply ask for a spare gauntlet. That seemed to have worked rather well on Zevran."

Grinning, Valene nodded. "Yes, it did, didn't it? I think that bruise is going to be there another week... not that he was undeserving." While she had forgiven the Antivan for trying to kill her – he _was_ an assassin, after all, – she had stayed wary of him. She had a feeling her biggest concern when it came to Zevran was no longer whether he would try to put a knife in her back, but whether or not he'd try to find his way into her bed. His accent and his physical features were all very attractive, but the smoothness and charm had her on alert. Had she been another person in another time, she supposed she would have been drawn to that, particularly the way he managed to look at a woman, gazing at her not as if she were something to be conquered, but a living work of art to be thoroughly enjoyed and experienced. Unusual, but not unpleasant.

Alistair opened the door leading to the streets of Orzammar. "Are you ready?" The glow of molten earth cast the entire cavern, massive as it was, in a warm shade of orange.

Valene blinked, snapping out of her reverie. "Hmm? Oh, yes, let me just grab my staff." The silvery rod was near the door and she picked it up, slinging it over her shoulder just as she did when traveling, finding comfort in the added power of a weapon. She could cast well enough without one, but the staff amplified her magic. Whatever their resistance, dwarves weren't entirely immune and if someone tried something she wanted to be prepared. The edge in the city was not only palpable, it had been clearly displayed in the dwarf slain over an argument of the future king of Orzammar. Even if Alistair seemed at ease, she would not venture out unarmed. Taking Alistair's arm again, she nodded. "Let's see what we can find."

* * *

As he chatted with the tavern hostess, Zevran tried to act as though there wasn't a bronze-skinned giant standing behind him with a glare. The hostess was impressively at ease, despite the size and unusual appearance of the qunari. She'd also proven delightfully free with knowledge of the area after a few compliments. He'd never been near dwarves much, but he found that the build lent itself to impressive hips and bosoms in the women, something he could never disapprove of. Had he not been assigned the shadow he would've happily bedded the woman. _Alas, I have loyalties to prove and cannot simply vanish from the ever-angry eyes of the qunari_. Evading Sten wouldn't be a very difficult task for an assassin of his skill, but it would raise suspicions he could ill afford. He had a feeling Valene knew this and Sten was more of a test than an actual prevention for leaving. Sten was a formidable warrior, true, and it would take one swing of his massive sword to end Zevran's life if he was careless enough to be in the way.

Sensing he had received all the information he could glean from the hostess he took her hand and kissed it once, gazing into her eyes. "Thank you, my dear Corra." Zevran did his best to remember a woman's name, it came exceptionally handy during second encounters if he had missed the opportunity to enjoy himself the first time. "Had they told me dwarven women could be as beautiful as you, I would have come here long ago." She blushed and let out a soft giggle. _A pity indeed that my situation constrains me._ He bowed gracefully, then bid her farewell.

Turning to leave he gestured to the qunari. "Come, my angry friend, I believe we have a Warden or two to find?"

Zev hadn't thought it would be possible, but Sten's expression became even more stone-like, jaw clenching tightly. Remembering tales of qunari biting through wood and metal, Zevran realized they could be entirely true. The man remained quiet, though, as he had remained around Zevran since that first day. He would have thought Sten a mute had he not heard him speaking with the mage Warden.

Stepping into the streets of Orzammar, Zev ran his eyes over the common area. The dwarven city had proven impressive and delightfully warm, a relief after the cold climb up the mountain. While beautiful and by no means small, Zevran found the city small and easily traversed after growing up in the immense sprawl of Antiva City. The population was not overly large, and, from what the hostess had told him, many people were staying in their homes or shops as much as possible as a way to avoid violence or trouble from the warring factions and a local organization of thugs and thieves.

Eyes running over the crowd he caught sight of two figures that towered over the dwarven natives. Starting towards them he couldn't help noticing that neither wore armor and only one seemed to have a weapon of any sort. It was unusual for either one of them, but he supposed they had a reason. As he grew closer he found himself approving of the change of attire. Valene was in what appeared to be mage's robes that showed of the curve of her body nicely. It was as he admired the line from her waist to hip that he realized something. She and Alistair were arm in arm, both of their bodies relaxed and comfortable. He raised an eyebrow and a smile crept on his face. Valene was pretty, certainly, but her nose was too small and her eyes too high for her to be considered a great beauty. Her coloring was attractive, though, and unique: soft grey eyes, deep brown hair and warm, sun-darkened skin. While his badly bruised jaw was enough to give him pause for the time being, seeing her on Alistair's arm spurred the competitive side in him. He had originally intended to pursue the former lay sister, intrigued to find out what she was hiding behind eyes that were as blue as the Antivan Sea. He already suspected she had been in a line of work no different than his, particularly with her accent and the Orlesian's reputation for bard assassins. The game with a fellow assassin was compelling, but he had played that before. This would be something altogether different.

Announcing himself, Zevran smiled as he spoke. "My dear Wardens, so good to find you!" The two of them turned, untangling their arms as surprise entered their faces. "And may I say, you both look even better out of your armor than in it?" He flashed a grin at Alistair and the man's eyes grew wide as his face flushed. Zevran would let him think what he would of the statement, but Zev only saw an opponent. _And he doesn't even know the game has begun._


	11. Chapter 10

_AN: For the most part, I will have the full party going along for quests unless the situation seems to provide a good reason for anyone being left behind (as happened with the Mage Tower). I realize the game is not built this way, but it seems more practical to take along everyone for the best chance of survival instead of leaving half of your party at camp!_

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"I can't believe we're actually supporting Bhelen." Alistair's voice was an unhappy grumble.

"Alistair, quiet. This wasn't an easy decision and you know full well it took over a week to decide on anything." Valene sounded tired and irritated and she had an expression to match. She raised a hand to her forehead and cringed. Everyone in the party was covered in gore to one degree or another, but she had somehow managed to catch it in her hair. She looked absolutely terrible. "How many bloody deep stalkers could there possibly be in _one_ Thaig?"

Zevran's eyebrows raised at the mild curse. The mage usually had her emotions under strict control, but it seemed the stress of the situation and almost constant combat was wearing on her. In the past week she had given him increasing freedom and had finally given Zevran his daggers back this morning. Sten seemed relieved to be called off duty, but he certainly didn't trust seem to Zevran any more than he had since that first day. In fact, the only other person to treat him with any degree of trust was Wynne. He assumed it was some buried motherly instinct, but he couldn't think of her as such. For a woman half her age she would have had a decent figure, but considering her years... She was a source of interest and should he get bored with such easy competition as Alistair he wasn't entirely certain he'd pass Wynne up. In his experience it was the older women who proved to be the truly fascinating bed partners.

Zevran strode towards Valene, sheathing his daggers as he went. He shot Alistair a disapproving look before talking in as soothing a voice as he could muster. "My dear, warden you should rest. I am certain this Lord Dace will survive an extra half-hour, hmm?" When she gave the slightest of nods he gently took her arm and guided her to a piece of worn down masonry suitable as a temporary seat. Leaning over he carefully picked up the clump of flesh that had made its way into her brown hair and tossed it aside. Her only response was to eye him gratefully.

Out of the corner of his eye Zev saw Alistair's hand tighten around his sword, eyes trained on the elf. Alistair was proving so easily provoked that Zev feared he would lose interest if something was not done. Instead of speaking rashly however, Alistair surprised him. "You're right, Zevran. We'll get some food and water... and a quick wash of hands and faces, if nothing else. Valene, I have some extra elfroot if you'd like? It may help with your head..."

Zevran was forced to step aside to allow Alistair to distribute Valene's share of their simple rations or risk looking the fool. Taking his own portion of food – he received his share dead last – he nibbled on a piece of cheese and eyed the ex-Templar. It seemed Alistair was not quite so oblivious anymore. Now the fun could start.

* * *

Morrigan let loose a spell that stunned the dozen deep stalkers surrounding the party. The momentary lull in attacks allowed a massive advantage to everyone fighting. They had stumbled on Lord Dace and his house warriors while they had been engaging a large pack of deep stalkers. Valene took the time to cast a cone of fire that enveloped three of the temporarily-immobile creatures. As Morrigan's spell wore off they started emitting terrible shrieking noises that were only ended by the blades and daggers of those around her. As the last one fell Valene planted the end of her staff in the ground and leaned heavily on it. She was exhausted, but the day full of fighting was only part of it.

Last night she and the rest had been up arguing the final decision. While no one really liked the prince, they also couldn't argue with her reason for choosing to support him, despite her deep suspicion they were being used. In the end, she had decided she would do what would be best for the common people of Orzammar and that meant supporting Bhelen. While the others had finally come around to her way of thinking, Alistair had argued until he was the only one against it and proceeded to sulk. She wished she could make him understand how conflicted and uneasy the decision made her, but she simply didn't have the energy.

Surprisingly, Zevran had been her most vehement supporter once she announced the decision. She knew he'd spent a large amount of time questioning people – Sten went over a list of his activities every day – and what Zevran had passed on had proven useful. She'd double-checked almost every lead he'd given her and all of his reports had proved truthful. His help was the reason she'd returned his daggers and allowed him to come on the expedition into the Aeducan Thaig today. He'd also seemed to be cured of all thoughts of sexual advances towards her. His bruise was gone now, but he remained polite and had kept his eyes from wandering or staring. Well, at least where she was concerned. Wynne, Morrigan and Leliana had all been the recipient of verbal praise and lecherous looks, with Alistair occasionally receiving the latter. The last had surprised her after Zevran's talk of women, but she saw no reason for it to be a problem, so long as they didn't aggravate each other. Morrigan would be enough for that. The woman had been remarkably obstinate and rude over the past week and refused to discuss the tome she had taken from the Tower any further. Valene had tried to coax it out of her, but it had been to no avail. Whatever was upsetting her, Morrigan only seemed to calm down if Valene asked her question about the wild, or about her ability to shape change. Since her disposition had soured, Valene had tried to speak with Morrigan nightly, and while her overall attitude hadn't improved much, she had at least stopped snapping anytime someone looked at her.

Wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, Valene turned to find Lord Dace. Wynne was kneeling over an older man with a mangled calf, despite his protests. After more time passed than Valene imagined would have been necessary for a human, elf or qunari, the older dwarf got to his feet. Despite his obvious years, he was fit and his eyes were full of vigor. Inclining her head slightly, Valene addressed the man. "Lord Dace, I presume?"

His eyes widened momentarily at a human mage addressing him by name. "Yes... And may I know your name? You pulled us out of a very tight spot there."

"I'm Valene, a Grey Warden, as is Alistair." She motioned to him as he helped one of the house warriors who had taken a bad hit to the head. "I'm afraid we're here with bad news."

* * *

"Prince Bhelen, just get to the point. I highly doubt I need the political background for whatever it is you're planning on asking me." Valene's voice was tinged with impatience.

The prince raised an eyebrow at her, his blue eyes taking on an edge. "Very well. Ever since my father died and the issue of an heir arose, the assembly has called for more of the guards to stay in the Diamond Quarter. Jarvia and her Carta have moved in and are currently attempting extortion. Killing her and her Carta would not only sway support towards me, it would make the lives of the commoners better – provide them security while I am powerless to do so." Bhelen raised his hands as if to demonstrate his helplessness.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. She didn't disapprove of the prince and he certainly seemed a better candidate than what she'd heard of Lord Harrowmont. Dwarven politics had proven to be a viper's den and it was the Prince who possessed the will to do as he wished, not the old advisor. Still, she could see the man's act wasn't impressing, or fooling, anyone. Valene leaned back with a sigh, fixing the prince with a stare. "And this will get me the troops I need for the Blight?"

He returned her stare and they looked more like two wolves about to begin a fight than allies of any degree. "Yes. Once I am king the entirety of Orzammar's strength will rise to aid you in the Blight." He paused, waiting to see if she would respond. When she didn't, he continued. "You have my oath."

Valene nodded. "Then you have mine. Jarvia and the Carta will be seen to." With only a slight bow to the prince, Valene turned and left. Morrigan, Sten and Zevran followed. Wynne and Leliana had both claimed they were looking into having new boots made, which may have even be true. Neither was particularly entranced with Behlen, but they had no deep objection. Alistiar, on the other hand, had continued to grumble until Valene had thrown a spare gauntlet at him last night. He'd sulked since then, so she had left to visit the prince without him.

Morrigan found herself approving of Valene's handling of events since they arrived at Orzammar. She'd kept a cool head in any dealings with dwarves, despite the initial fury they'd caused her, and had put aside any feelings of annoyance to choose who she felt was best.

As they left the palace, Valene ushered them into a small side-alley. "Zevran, Sten, you're on reconnaissance duty again. I want you to find out everything you can about Jarvia and her organization." She handed three sovereigns over to each of them. "I don't care who you have to get drunk or bribe, get me what I need." Zevran moved as if to touch her, but she was moving again. "Morrigan, with me. I believe we have something to talk about."

Being ordered around barely irked Morrigan this time. She knew what Valene wanted to talk about: Flemeth's Grimoire. Only Morrigan had discovered it wasn't her true grimoire at all, but a volume with a highly detailed account of how she had managed to live so long. Since Morrigan had realized the purpose of the tome, she'd felt ill, irritable and absolutely terrified for her own life. She knew she'd been taking it out on the others in the party, but she didn't care anymore. The stress was preventing her from sleeping well, and once-peaceful dreams had turned into nightmares of Flemeth slipping into her body and laughing in _her_ voice as she destroyed Morrigan's soul. Even years of being hunted by Templars had not brought the emotion that haunted her now. Fear.

* * *

Putting an arm around the distraught woman, Valene closed her eyes and sighed. She'd never imagined the contents of the tome would be so grim and she couldn't begin to comprehend what Morrigan was feeling. She'd told Valene everything with a straight face and even now with it all over, she still managed to stay free from tears, though she was trembling violently. At least the Hall of the Paragons was blessedly empty; it had simply been a matter of picking one of the many isolated corners. Trying to keep her voice soothing, Valene hugged Morrigan as much as she dared. "I won't let her do that to you. Tell me what needs to be done."

Morrigan looked at her as if she was trying to see her thoughts. "You would... help me? After the trouble I've been?"

Valene tried to put on a smile. "You've been a great help and it's the least I can do."

Morrigan simply blinked at her and nodded, visibly tensing in an effort to stop shaking. "The only way I can think of is killing Flemeth. I cannot be certain it would be the end of her, but it would at least force her out of her current body. If she were dead and I had her true grimoire..." Shivering, she shook her head. "Listen to me. Asking you to kill my mother. You must think me a mad woman." She gave a bitter chuckle.

Valene set her jaw as memories of her own parents popped into her head. "No. I think I understand. Mine weren't exactly... proud when I was sent to the Tower."

Nodding, the woman continued. "True, I imagine they were not, due to the Chantry's teachings. The reason I am so hesitant to ask is... I dare not go with you. If she dies when I am present, she may be able to take over my body immediately." She trailed off and dropped her head into her hands with a slight groan.

"Then I'll go and take a few others. It will only be a week's journey there and back from the main road..." Valene trailed off as Morrigan didn't seem to be listening. Gently taking the woman's wrists she pulled her hands away from her face. "Morrigan, I will not let this happen. Do you trust me with this?"

Morrigan could only nod gratefully as she blinked back tears. Standing up, Valene held out a hand to help the woman to her feet. Standing up, the other mage took a deep breath. "I trust you."

As the two women started their way back to their temporary house, Valene began to realize the promise she'd made wasn't to a simple travelling companion. She'd made a promise to a friend.

* * *

Jarvia's voice purred in her ear as steel pressed to her throat. "Pretty little mage, you should have stayed surface-side where you belonged." The edge cut into her neck and Valene tried to lean back against Jarvia to avoid it sliding further, but the woman was much stronger and held her in place by grabbing her hair with her free hand. "No, you're going to watch while the rest of your friends die. Then I get to have my fun with you." Unable to move, not daring to cast, Valene watched.

* * *

Leliana was bleeding from a slash on her right thigh, but still she drew and shot, arrow after arrow, target after target. All the while, a prayer ran through her head. _Maker, watch over your children. Forgive us all our sins and sees us through our challenges. We seek only to serve you in the name of your blessed prophet, Andraste. Guide us as we fight for good and see that our blades and arrows hit truly, that our foes may fall before us_.

Fall they did, under her hail of arrows, and the blades and spells of the others. One by one the thugs and assassins fell dead or unable to fight until the only sounds were the groans of the dead. She had an arrow drawn and ready to aim, and she looked around to find any who still stood. There was but one. Jarvia.

The dwarf woman was barely visible, short as she was, but Leliana could see her blade against Valene's throat. The mages eyes were fixed on her, a mix of fear and resignation filling them. Jarvia's began to slowly move backwards, forcing Valene to move as she pressed the knife deeper. The edge was red with blood. "Sodding fools, all of you. I've got your pretty little leader here and if you step closer I'll end her life." Jarvia's voice was full of triumph as she moved closer to a door. Leliana caught the slightest movement in the shadows behind the two women. As Jarvia released Valene's hair and moved to fumble with the door latch behind her, Zevran appeared as if by magic.

His first hit took the arm that held the dagger, his blade digging into the flesh at her elbow. He cut deep and her weapon dropped to the floor. Valene threw herself away, twisting towards Jarvia as she fell. Lightning flew from her fingertips as Zevran's second dagger buried itself in Jarvia's chest. Blood bubbled from the dwarf's mouth, her eyes wide in shock. She tried to speak, but was cut short by a vicious twist from the Antivan.

As the dwarf dropped to her knees, Leliana started forward, stumbling as her gashed thigh refused to move and gave out beneath her. Wynne was at her side almost immediately, her hands glowing the too-familiar bright blue. Lelian watched as Zevran kneeled by Valene and took of his leather gloves. The mage was trying to get up, but the elf put a gentle hand on her shoulder. His hand moved to her neck as he inspected the red line across the mage's throat. Alistair charged up to the assassin, his posture threatening. Leliana could hear what was being said.

"Get away from her!"

"I mean her no harm..."

"Alistair, he just saved my life! What is _wrong_ with you?"

The last words were Valene's and Alistair responded as if she had struck him. He took a step back, blinking as his face twisted into a look of confusion. "I- I'm sorry. I don' t know what came over me..."

Leliana could have sworn she'd seen a smile dance across Zevran's face before he looked at the prone mage with concern. "Are you alright, my dear warden? The cut does not look deep, but I would not be surprised if she poisoned the blade."

The blue glow stopped and Leliana looked back to the healer. Wynne looked as though she were on the verge of collapse and her voice was hoarse as she spoke. "It is done."

Nodding absently, Leliana kept her eyes on the trio at the far end of the room. For all of Alistair's defeated looks, she had a feeling the battle had just begun.


	12. Chapter 11

_AN: Some of Oghren's dialogue is either paraphrased from the original or directly lifted. There are a few lines that were too good to pass up! _

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Valene's hand twitched. The bandage around her neck was driving her mad, but it was entirely her fault for not allowing herself to be healed. She wanted the scar as a reminder, if nothing else. Next time she wouldn't stand by helplessly while those around her fought. Next time she would die before allowing someone to use her like that.

Now, however, she had other things to worry about. Alistair. She'd been appalled by his behavior since her initial decision to support Behlen, but his fury at Zevran for daring to touch her was something altogether different. Taking a sip from the goblet of wine, Valene tapped her foot impatiently. Moments passed before there was a faint knock at her door. Sitting up straighter in her chair, Valene cleared her throat before calling out. "You may come in."

The door opened slowly, admitting a crestfallen Alistair. His eyes were trained on the floor and he nearly tripped over the chair opposite her before sitting in it. She let the silence linger another minute or two, trying to school her emotions. Part of her yearned for his touch, but the other wanted to strangle him. After he began to fidget nervously, she decided to speak.

"Alistair, I realize you are not comfortable with the decisions I have made and acted on in the past several days. I made them as the leader of our odd little party, however, and everyone else has fallen in line." She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table as she laced her fingers together. Fixing him with what she hoped was a calm look, she continued. "This decision has been made and acted upon to the point there is no turning back. However, once we leave you may take command if serving under me grates you so badly."

His warm brown eyes fixed on hers for the first time in over a week and his mouth hung open slightly. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head. While she was definitely more inclined to lead, she was also the junior member between the two and she knew that some held more strongly to seniority than they did skill or ability. She had not thought him such, but his actions had made her wonder what she really knew about him. "No. I'm being absolutely serious. If you would prefer to lead, I will step aside and allow you to lead as you see fit."

Rubbing a hand on his face, Alistair shook his head. "No, no, I don't want to be a bloody leader. I'd be terrible at it. You're a natural and I trust you to lead."

Valene felt a lump form in her throat. "Then why haven't you shown me any trust since I decided on the prince? Or did you think that a few kisses meant I'd happily put up with general discord?"

Alistair winced at that barb. It was unfair of her, but the thought had haunted her mind. "That's not it at all, Valene. Maker, I never thought that." He sounded tired, sad. "I just... I know he saved you today, but I don't trust him. The assassin."

Struggling to contain her surprise, Valene sat back in her chair slowly, nodding as if she understood. "Would you like to explain how Zevran relates to your actions in any way?"

Alistair scrubbed a hand through his hair, pausing mid-way as he noticed there was a filled goblet of wine for him. He downed it in three gulps, grimacing as he put the empty cup down. "I don't like that you've trusted his advice on this. I feel like he's led you on, led you to support Behlen for one reason or another."

Valene wasn't sure if she should be insulted or not. "There was a reason I painstakingly questioned and re-questioned anyone I could find that had talked to Zevran. That is why I talked to people he never mentioned. I told you, I did _not_ make the decision lightly, nor did I make it because he seemed to think it was a good idea. I made it because in the end, I believe Behlen will do more good for more people than Harrowmont will." Alistair nodded and sighed, saying nothing. "Tell me, if you were king, would you rath-"

Alistair had shot to his feet as if she had lit a fire under him. "I am no king, nor will I ever _be_ a king."

Valene eyed him uncertainly. She'd never seen him like this before. "I never said you were; it was a completely hypothetical question." Worry wrinkled her brow. "Are you alright, Alistair? I know I've been harsh, but not without reason."

Shrugging his shoulders, Alistair avoided meeting her eyes. "I'm fine." His voice was a grumble.

Valene let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, are we going to start this again? I'm being serious about this, Alistair. I need to know if you can still follow me. If you can't, well... then we have a problem, don't we?"

He crossed his arms and let out a sigh, his eyes drifting to the wine on the table. "Look, I just don't like all this sneaking around and killing at someone's whim. It feels dirty."

Valene understood the feeling. The entire affair left her feeling like Bhelen's lackey, a position entirely unfit for a Grey Warden. "I know. But I was serious when I asked you. If you were in charge of a people would you rather see your people or your traditions preserved?"

His face clouded over again and moments passed before he reluctantly grumbled. "My people."

Letting out a sigh, Valene nodded in agreement. "As would I. Unfortunately, the one most concerned with that is also rather keen on gaining power." She rested her head in a hand, closing her eyes . _Maker, I need sleep_. "Reality isn't like the stories. There isn't one person that's entirely good to make everything better. It's harder than that."

Alistair flopped into his chair again, resting his head against the high back. "Alright, I get it. And I do see your point, even if I still don't like the prince. Or trust Zevran."

Reminding herself it was at least small victory, Valene inclined her head in the slightest of nods. "I don't like Bhelen either. And Zevran has proven to not only be useful, but that he's not out to kill me anymore." _Not to mention less questioning, though at least part of that _has _to be an attempt to get in my good graces_.

Alistair's expression softened and he trained his eyes on hers once more. "You're so practical, it's almost maddening, in its own way." The slightest smile crept over his lips. "And now you're giving me that look. I'll stop sulking."

"Thank you, Alistair. I- I can't do this without you." The words were true, but she wasn't certain how she meant them. She needed another Grey Warden, certainly, she needed the friend she'd made. _But do I need a lover?_ The feelings were there, her heart yearned for it, but her mind told her to try and stay uninvolved. _It's too late for that, though, isn't it?_ Her head whirled with thoughts and urges and whispers to be cautious.

"And I couldn't have gotten this far without you. I'm sorry I've been such a bastard lately." He grinned. "And now I _don't_ mean the fatherless kind. Just the annoying one."

Unable to help herself, Valene let out a small laugh. "Alright, apology accepted. Now off with you, I've got to get some rest, and I'd recommend you do the same. I'm sure Bhelen knows about Jarvia by now, but I suppose I should tell him myself." She'd found herself shocked at how quickly news managed to travel among the dwarves, regardless of who, where or what was going on. _And I'd thought mages were bad when it came to gossip..._

Alistair rose to his feet and walked around the table. "Right. I'll keep my mouth shut and let you do the talking. You're much better at it than I am." Leaning down he kissed her temple softly. "Dream well, Valene."

Nodding absently, Valene waited until he was out the door to get up. A servant entered almost immediately, again lamenting Valene's lack of anything more than slightly-worn mage robes or repaired leather armor in which to meet with the prince. As the dwarf woman chattered away, Valene went through the motions of getting ready for bed. Her mind was already asleep and _his_ voice echoed in her head.

* * *

Zevran crept away quietly, impressed by the warrior's ability to win her over. If Alistair's observational skills had been half as good, he would have noted the assassin standing in the slight alcove near the door. Making his way towards the room he shared with Sten, Zevran mused on the conversation. _Well played, my friend. Well played indeed_.

* * *

Oghren's head swam with the haze of too many drinks. A happy lucidity accompanied the nausea, and he couldn't help grinning and letting out a low chuckle. "Heh, Wardens can't get past me here." He'd planned it all out the moment he'd heard Endrin's brat had called for the Wardens to find Branka in the Deep Roads. Not that the untested boy would even know where to start. Oghren knew, though. He knew and the Warden would have to take him along, particularly after he realized what a fine warrior Oghren was. Someone useful setting out to find Branka had called for a celebration of course, and he'd stayed at Tapster's until he'd been kicked out. Swaying slightly Oghren reached out to steady himself on the rock beside him.

The rock wasn't there, but another three or four arm lengths away, and he hit the ground with a thud. "Sodding moving rocks." Climbing to his feet was a challenge all its own, his battle axe constantly getting in the way or throwing him off balance. _Or maybe it's the, uh... _Trying in vain to remember the exact number of pints he had, Oghren finally managed to lurch to his feet. Someone was approaching the mines entrance and he squinted, trying to focus his vision.

It was a motley crew of humans, something as big as a golem and an elf of all things. He stared at them incredulously. _This_ was Branka's salvation? "Nah, can't be." For one thing, only one of the women had anything close to a proper weapon, and even that was just a bow. At least the human man, the elf and the giant looked to be equipped with something pointy. Shrugging to himself, Oghren did his best to walk towards them. He only stumbled twice.

One of the women with a long unwieldy metal stick slung over her back raised a hand to motion everyone to stop. Oghren eyed her up and down and grunted disapprovingly. Human women never seemed to have enough meat to go around, and elves were just sticks. Drawing himself up to his full height he began the speech he'd prepared.

"You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a Grey Warden or two, would you?" The woman's face remained impassive, so he gave her his best smile. An eyebrow twitched up.

The blonde human moved to talk, but the woman just shook her head. "And what, exactly, would I be looking for, were I to find one?"

Oghren recalled the stories he'd heard of Grey Wardens and he closed his eyes to savor the memories. "Well, if the Warden's a man he'll be stout, with a broad chest, thick arms and the light of righteous rage shining in his eyes. If she's a woman, she'll be less stout, and she'll have a large, but chaste, bosom and the purity of selfless bravery will be apparent on her face." He sighed happily.

The woman let out a laugh. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but _I_ am a Grey Warden, as is he." She motioned to the blonde man.

Oghren grunted and eyed both of them uncertainly. Neither one was _nearly_ stout enough for him. _Ah well, suppose they'll take anyone._ "I'm Oghren. I heard you were looking for Branka."

"I'm Valene, this is Alistair and yes, we are. Why did you want to find us?" The woman gestured to the blonde human and wrinkled her nose as if a foul smell had just hit her. _What kind of a name is Valene? Or Alistair?_

"Branka's my wife." That same sodding eyebrow twitched again. "I've been trying to get someone to go look for her and the rest of the House for two sodding years. I know what she was looking for, I can help."

The blonde Warden, Alistair, mumbled something about ale, behind the female's back. "And are you sober enough to even walk straight?" Her voice was edged with disbelief.

The entire setting amused Oghren and he let out a roaring laugh. "By the Stone, woman, I don't need to be able to walk! I can stagger along just fine. And if it's my fighting ability you're worried about, then aye, I know how to swing an axe."

Valene sighed as she nodded her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this... but you can come along. We need all the help we can get. We'll need more supplies..."

As she trailed off into a list of things they'd need and signaled for him to follow as she turned back towards the commons, Oghren felt triumph well in his chest. He'd find his crazy Paragon of a wife and be a respected warrior again. Something like that called for a drink.

* * *

The thaig crawler let out a deafening shriek as flames engulfed it. Alistair's sword cut through the creature's head, ending the shrill noise. He eyed the flames that licked along the edge of his blade and shook his head. Valene had been working on this particular spell for a while, and it was unnerving, to say the least. It managed to avoid injuring him or anyone else in the party while setting any enemies alight. Still, he didn't think it was unreasonable to be particularly cautious.

They'd been in the Deep Roads three days now. After the Aeducan Thaig, they had met strong resistance from darkspawn, spiders, crawlers and deep stalkers... It seemed as if the entirety of life in the Deep Roads was designed to kill Wardens. _Now, that's a morbid thought, even for you_. He couldn't help it. There was a terrible, ghastly finality that lingered about the place and knowing that the best end he could hope for was among these dark roads and darkspawn corpses chilled his soul. The company of the constantly-drunken dwarf didn't help his mood, either. Alistair _still_ couldn't figure out where he was getting his ale. Granted, the man fought like one possessed and as long as he did that, Alistair didn't dare complain. He was back in Valene's good graces, but he had a feeling unfounded complaints would be particularly unwelcome here.

"By the ancestors, she left a book! It's her journal!" The dwarf's voice was clear, loud and unaccompanied by belching. _This must be important_.

Eyeing the ceiling cautiously, Alistair picked his way through dismembered spider after dismembered crawler to see what Oghren and Valene were crouched over. Morrigan was bent over Wynne, healing a gash in her leg, while Zevran was busy trying to keep the qunari from moving, despite Sten's protests. The giant's left arm was black and covered in venom. _Too many fights like this, too many injuries, too little rest..._ They'd pushed hard and if they didn't rest soon, their fatigue alone would render them useless in a fight.

Oghren's expression showed his elation. "She mentioned me! Heh, bet she's still got a soft-spot for old Oghren." Alistair highly doubted that was the case, particularly since she'd run off with another woman and left only her husband behind. It was one of the few times he'd come close to understanding why a woman might do something like that.

Amidst Ogrhen's obvious delight, Valene looked horrified. She flipped a page in the book and her eyes scanned the page quickly, as if she was searching for confirmation. The words ended half-way down the page and nothing more was written. She looked up at him, face drained of all color. "By the Maker... she's gone to the Dead Trenches."

Alistair looked at her in confusion. He hadn't been pouring over the old maps the way she and Oghren had done any time they'd stopped. The caverns and tunnels and roads were such a mess of dead-ends and cave-ins, or darkspawn-built barriers that he'd quit trying only a few hours into the first day. Her words drew the dwarf's attention.

Oghren practically sputtered in disbelief. "The Dead Trenches? No one besides the Legion has been there in decades, if not centuries!"

Valene nodded as she fumbled with her pack. "I remember. And I remember you saying that any where we go beyond this Thaig we're walking blind." Her pack open, Valene withdrew a map and laid it over the journal. It was only a copy of the true map that lay in the Shaperate, and a rather hastily drawn one, but it was better than nothing. Alistair watched the mage's finger trace their twisting path from Orzammar. Her finger stopped near the edge of the map. "This is more or less where we are now."

Wynne's voice interrupted Valene's reverie. "Valene! Do you have any lyrium potions on you? I don't have enough strength to finish healing Sten, but he needs it, badly." She immediately abandoned the map, delving into her pack once again as she stumbled towards Wynne. Morrigan was crouched over too, healing again, but she wore an exhausted expression as well.

Alistair moved around to look at the map properly now, joining Oghren in his study. The dwarf just shook his head. "Branka was never what you'd call sane, but I never thought she'd be so crazy as to brave the Trenches."

The end of the map gave Alistair an uneasy feeling. "Any idea if she could still be alive?"

"Aye, she took the whole sodding house, aside from me. Branka'd make sure they got her as far as she could go." Oghren's voice was back to that bitter tone. "That woman'd scare an ogre."

Alistair raised his eyebrows and sincerely tried to keep his face straight. "Ah, no wonder you miss her." His mouth twitched involuntarily. Oghren fixed him with a glare, before thrusting the map at Alistair and turning his attention to the journal.

Valene's voice rang out in the massive cavern. "We'll go ahead a bit further, find a good length of tunnel and have a proper rest. I have a feeling it's going to be our last chance for a while." She was already heading to the far end, staff in her hands, ready to focus a spell at a moment's notice.

Alistair shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't sense any darkspawn nearby, but he almost thought the woman had a death wish. He mumbled to himself as he thrust his blade into its sheath. "She's crazy."

A small voice in his head laughed. _Then why are you so attracted to her?_

"Oh hush." Alistair didn't like it when he couldn't even escaped being mocked by himself.

"Talking to yourself again?" Morrigan clucked disapprovingly as she pushed passed him. "I am still waiting for you to... what was it? Ah yes, 'slaughter the Grand Cleric and run through the streets of Denerim' in your smallclothes."

Alistair glowered at Morrigan's back. _If I _do_ go crazy..._

Nodding in agreement, he mumbled under his breath. "Right. She's first."


	13. Chapter 12

_AN: I have kept Hespith's poem intact, as well as some of her lines. I've had a hard time writing anything that was near as creepy as what Bioware cooked up. Thanks again for reading and taking the time to review!_

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* * *

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Miles of passageway finally opened into a large cavern. Valene could sense the darkspawn strongly, but it was strange, as the way a waterfall sounded at a distance – it wasn't particularly harsh on the ears, but something about the tone implied a cacophony up ahead. A glance at Alistair showed his face to be a mass of confusion. Eyeing the rocks around them, Valene motioned for Alistair, Morrigan and Oghren to accompany her to the edge of a great chasm. A massive bridge spanned it, broken in places, but still sturdy by the looks of it.

As they approached the underground canyon, Valene heard a horrible roar. The sound assaulted her ears and mind, deafening her completely. Alistair cringed with her, but Morrigan and Oghren only tensed. Inching close enough to peer down, thousands of tiny fires lit up the bottom of the gorge. It was darkspawn, thousands of them, hurlocks, shrieks, genlocks, ogres... Something bigger was approaching. _More darkspawn?_ It didn't make sense, they were already packed so tightly they couldn't fit more without trampling. The roar sounded again, echoing in the cavern. Valene's eyes went wide and she felt true terror for the first time.

"Everyone down, NOW!" Flattening herself against the stone, she heard the others with her do the same. She only hoped the rest had followed. The awful presence grew closer and the Taint surged inside her.

A dragon burst into view, all spines and teeth as it soared above the darkspawn, nearly grazing the ceiling of the enormous cavern. The Archdemon. It landed on the bridge and blew a jet of wicked violet fire. Its voice crashed through her head again and something dark inside her leaped to follow it. Dreams from the past months had shown her this, but seeing it with more than her mind's eye was terrifying.

After bellowing one last command to the mass of darkspawn below, the Archdemon spread its mighty wings and flew off, disappearing from view. Minutes passed with all of them lying like the dead. She could feel its presence grow faint, knew that it was flying _away_ from her, but instinct held her still.

It was Oghren who moved first, breaking the trance they had all been in. He helped Morrigan to her feet before approaching Valene. Extending a hand, he gave a half-smile. "Heh, you Wardens aren't kidding about this Blight then, are you?"

As she put her hand in his, she could only whisper. "No."

* * *

Oghren swung his massive axe into the ogre's back, snapping it's spine with a loud crunch. Immobilized, the creature fell forward, hard, nearly landing on Sten. Triumph at a kill made the wrath inside him heighten his desire to destroy. He let out a cry of rage as he turned and charged towards a nearby genlock. The shock of the blow ran through his arms as steel connected with flesh bone, sating his need for violence.

Panting hard, Oghren whirled around again, searching for another victim to feed his burning need for death. All were down, though, genlocks, hurlocks, emissaries, alphas... all felled by him or his companions. With great reluctance he willed himself to let the anger go.

The heavy footsteps of fully armored dwarves grew louder as Oghren cleaned his double-bladed axe, the act bringing him back to the nervous uneasiness that had accompanied him ever since finding Branka's journal. Seeing the Archdemon and the dozens of darkspawn that had just been on the bridge were striking blows at his hope of seeing her alive, of saving her from herself and her crazy pursuit of the Anvil.

A deep voice brought his attention to the dozen or so dwarves that had finally crossed the bridge. "You're crazy Warden, but you know how to handle darkspawn, I'll give you that." It was Kardol, commander of the Legion and he and his men were all nodding approvingly. Oghren knew the man from his time as a warrior. He'd never gotten the full details of what Kardol had done, but from his understanding, joining the Legion hadn't been necessary.

The Warden looked ready to pounce, stance slightly crouched, staff gripped tightly in her right hand. "No thanks to you." Her tone was clipped and, Ancestors if it wasn't cold. The nodding abruptly stopped and Kardol's cheek twitched.

Unable to help himself Oghren let out a hearty laugh. "Well, Kardol, I'd have to say it's a rare day the Legion gets taken down a peg by a mage." Oghren respected the Legion, but Valene was right. They'd been content to linger on the far side of the bridge while the party had fought their way through to the other side.

Kardol's pale blue eyes fixed on Oghren. "And I didn't think murderous drunks were fit to lick a Warden's boots." The insult fueled the rage he had so reluctantly tucked away. A huge hand clamped on his shoulder and squeezed tight. It was the damned qunari. Oghren shrugged in an attempt to get the hand to move, but to no avail. With a low growl he relaxed, seething 'd save it for the darkspawn.

Valene spoke again, her tone still cold and hard. "My company is no business of yours, dwarf. Have you seen any evidence of the Paragon Branka? We need her."

Eyes widening, Kardol stepped back uncertainly. "Branka? What would a Warden want with her?" His question was met with silence. Oghren stifled the urge to laugh again. _Never thought I'd see a human woman startle a battle-hardened dwarf_. Kardol cleared his throat. "We haven't seen any Paragons, just darkspawn and that dragon. The name's Kardol."

The mage nodded curtly. "Valene. And 'that dragon' was an Archdemon. There is a Blight."

Kardol nodded seriously. "That would explain the reduction in numbers over the past months. They're moving topside, then?"

"Yes. They destroyed half of Ferelden's army at Ostagar, though it seems they are content to stay in the south for now. Tell me anything and everything you or your men might know about this fortress." Valene began interrogating each of them for anything, be it rumor, myth, or legend.

Oghren could only grunt in approval. Kardol had been right about the woman's sanity, but Oghren needed someone as crazy as Branka if they were going to find his wife. _Maybe not _as_ crazy, but close enough to it._ Valene was definitely the one for the job.

* * *

Valene watched as Morrigan inspected a fetid scarlet cyst that bulged from the wall. The corruption had grown steadily the farther they progressed into the ancient fortress. Kardol had call it Bownammar and said it had been the stronghold of the Legion of the Dead in centuries past, but the fortress had been twisted and shaped by darkspawn until it was only a mass of torn stone bridges, rough tunnels and crumbling walls. It seemed that even rock was not immune to the Taint.

"'Tis darkspawn corruption, though the similarities to the corruption in the Tower are striking." Morrigan's eyes were filled with fascination as she withdrew a small dagger from her belt. She slid the blade into the fleshy sac and drew it down. The pustule opened and a thick pink liquid spilled out.

The smell was revolting and Valene coughed in an effort to avoid retching. Leliana wasn't so fortunate, and the woman emptied her stomach loudly. As the scent stung her eyes Valene made a noise of disgust. "Maker, Morrigan, was that really necessary?"

Morrigan turned and fixed her with a bland look. "No, not really. I was simply curious."

Valene shook her head and signaled everyone to move forward. "Keep away from the walls." The order was not necessary. Even with Morrigan's fascination, she had sated her curiosity and the growths were now inconvenient.

As the hall turned into a dead-end, a tunnel opened up on the side. Taking her first steps in, a raspy voice sounded out, filling her head and ears.

_First day, they come and catch everyone._

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* * *

_

The taste of bile was still in Leliana's mouth, and everything inside her told her this place was wrong, forsaken. She moved slowly, creeping forward, each step reluctant. The others moved the same way, even Valene, for all her bravery and insistence to push, had finally slowed. The old fortress felt violated, a haunted victim of the darkspawn. It still stood, a stubborn, silent testament to the countless injustices wrought in its halls.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat_.

* * *

Sten focused his mind, trying to ignore what lay around him. He had never wanted to be so far from a battlefield as he was now. The glittering sands of Par Vollen shone in his head, a beacon of clarity, and the vision brought him peace between the whispered curses that chilled his bones. The sword in his hand did not feel so strange as it once had, but he had never felt so naked and prone. He was only afraid to die if it was without Asala in his hand. Fear licked at his mind, caressing his will to see where the resistance was weakest. The greasy ichor of terror seeped into corners of his mind he had thought protected, and he shuddered with shame.

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again_.

* * *

Alistiar gripped the sword until it was painful, but he didn't loosen his grasp. His shield was tucked close to his body, ready to deflect any strike. Sweat rolled down his face and tickled until the sensation was maddening. No one had spoken for minutes, but he heard whispered rhymes that chilled his blood. His mind, usually so disciplined, was overwhelmed by the hum of the Taint in his blood. It sang to him, calling with a voice terrible and alluring. He fought it, but the doubt of his sanity ate away at his determination.

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate_.

* * *

Morrigan felt the corruption pressing in on her, pressing in on them all. It had started out an oddity, something to be studied, but as it grew and spread it became a worry. The Taint lay so thick she could feel it with each breath. Something changed with each step they took, shifting the balance of power. Her power was her own and she drew strength from it, but for the first time in her life she felt truly small. Resolve tightened inside her. She would not succumb.

_Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn._

_

* * *

_

Oghren clung to anger that fueled his battle rage. He let the memories of hateful words and spiteful jeers wash through him. The countless faces that had twisted in disgust, the innumerable voices that had mocked him, or called him a killer. All of them drove his resolve, but none more than the bitter memory of Branka's abandonment. Had she seen what he would become before it happened? He pushed on, ignoring the nagging doubts inside him.

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams_.

* * *

Wynne felt tired, old, worn-down. The frequent need for her healing powers and sparse rest was enough to make her feel her age, regardless, but ever since the appearance of the Archdemon it had been deeper than that. The spirit that sustained her seemed to recoil from the putrescence that clung to the place and its reluctance made each step more difficult. The air was thick with decay and rot, the smell half-choking her when she drew deep breaths in an effort to calm herself, to concentrate and take another step.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew_.

* * *

Zevran had never longed for Antiva as deeply as he did now. Ferelden, for all of its dogs and cold weather, at least had a sky. True, Orzammar had denied him that, but it was still a city. There were people moving about, the smell of food cooking in street stalls. The Deep Roads were devoid of friendly life or pleasant smells and filled with only empty reminders of once-great settlements. Wondering if he'd ever see the sky again, Zev began to wish he'd died in the ambush.

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated_.

* * *

The last whisper was louder, closer. Valene now knew: she wasn't hearing things, the voice was real. Darkspawn couldn't speak, so something else must lay ahead. The entire place was disquieting and it had been almost an hour since they had encountered any darkspawn. She could sense something ahead, but it was different than anything she remembered feeling. Whatever it was, the Taint hummed inside her as if it had begun to awaken. There was a sort of... fondness in its tone, a longing that she couldn't describe. It was not the surge of desire she had felt at seeing the Archdemon, it was not that potent or strong. There was no urge to follow what the Taint was responding to, but that made it all the more unsettling.

"Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin." That voice again. She raised a hand to signal a halt and glanced behind her. Relief was on every face, as if they too had wondered if they were alone in hearing the grisly poem. Creeping forward, Valene inched towards the opening in the wall. It lead to a hall that turned a short ways away to her right. The slightest rustle of movement to her left caught her attention and she turned to look.

"Now she does feast, for she's become the beast." A small hunched figure kneeled over a mass of flesh, pawing at it mindlessly. The voice came from this creature. The light and the thing's posture made it difficult to tell, but Valene thought it was a dwarf woman. Motioning to the others, Valene stepped into the hallway and approached the huddled form.

Just as she was about to speak, the form turned and stood, fixing Valene with an apprehensive stare. It _was_ a dwarven woman, but one bereft of any appearance of life, aside from her movements. Eyes as pale as a fish belly squinted in confusion. "What's this, a human? No, it is wrong. A dream, then." The woman's eyes flitted to Oghren. "Feeding time brings only kin and clan. You, then are real?" Suddenly flinching, she hung her head and clasped her hands together. "The men. The men are... gone. You should not be here. _You_ should be dead."

Valene could sense the Taint in the woman. It was struggling inside her and from the look of the mottled skin on her face, it was winning. "Oghren, do you know her?" The woman didn't seem to hear her, lost in some new thought.

Oghren crept closer, pushing Alistair aside as he squinted hard. "I- I think it's Hespith. Branka's lover."

"Branka? Do not speak that name. She did this. She let it happen." Eyes that had been fuzzy were now focused and sharp with pain and anger. "The shame of that is my blame, too. I was her commander, her lover, but I could do nothing. She _is_ the Anvil now."

Oghren let out a sound of disbelief. "What? Branka's found the Anvil?" He moved as if to grab her, but Valene flung out an arm to stop him.

Hissing like a cat, Hespith bared her teeth. "I told you not to speak that name! She needs it, wants it more than anything." The woman drew a shaking breath. "She wants it more than me, more than her House. I have failed her. Failed them all."

Valene's stomach churned with revulsion and pity. Hespith was not only being driven mad by the Taint; her guilt was consuming her mind, twisting her perception. Keeping her voice soft in an effort to ease Hespith's distress over Branka's name, Valene spoke. "Hespith, where is everyone else? What happened to them?"

Those pale, dead eyes turned to her again. "We tried to escape her madness, but they found us. They took the women, one by one, changing them, making them swell. I wished Laryn would be taken before me and she was. I thought I had escaped the terror but I had to watch her as she changed, I had to watch as she tore off her husband's face and drank his blood. They filled her with themselves. And now-"

Oghren cut in angrily. "Branka! Where is Branka?" His voice boomed through the cavern.

Hespith snarled. "No more, I said, no more!" She pushed past Valene and fled down the short hall, disappearing around the corner. Alistair ran after her, but stopped.

"She's... she's gone." He blinked in surprise. "It's just a straight hallway and she's disappeared."

Valene glared at Oghren. The dwarf at least had the decency to look shamed. "I didn't think she'd-"

"Your lack of thought is obvious." Valene didn't regret the stab one bit. Any help Hespith could have offered was gone now and it was Oghren's impatience that had caused her to flee. Surveying the rest of the party, Valene could see the fortress was wearing on them. She was tempted to call a rest, but the corruption around them would negate any advantage a break might give.

"We press on for now." Six heads bobbed in agreement. Oghren's remained still as he glowered and mumbled to himself. _As long as he follows..._

He did. Hespith remained unseen, but her voice whispered to them once again.

_They took her and fed her and she grew. The men they used for feeding. _

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* * *

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Leliana fumbled with the lock for the sixth time, trying to trip the mechanism inside. Every time she felt close something slipped she had to start over. Locks had never been a problem for her, but this one was proving impossible.

"Perhaps I could try, my dear?" It was Zevran. Leliana didn't mind him so long as he kept his eyes to himself, which wasn't very often at all. He'd spent the last few weeks ogling anything with a pretty face, which included Alistair, but he had avoided Valene, choosing instead to agree with her every decision while trying to appear as though she simply made the most sense. Leliana knew what he was up to, though, and she didn't entirely approve. The two Wardens shared affection, where Zevran seemed to view it as a game. But, she supposed she could forgive him his philosophy towards such things, particularly since he grew up in a whorehouse. She was more inclined to relationships, but understood the allure of sex for pleasure, as well as the need to provide convincing love to get close to a target.

Sighing, she stepped aside. "Alright. It's unusual, unlike anything else we've encountered so far. The mechanism is quite complex."

He flashed a grin and pulled out his own set of picks. "Ah, a challenge then." Leliana shook her head in disbelief. The fortress was deeply unsettling and the dwarf woman had only made it more so. Her voice still muttered from the shadows, the disembodied voice telling a disjointed tale darker than any she had heard before.

After a few minutes, Zevran stepped back from the door and turned to the group with an abashed look on his face. "I'm afraid I stand defeated. If we wish to get through, we shall need a key."

"What's the fuss about? We only have to find one tiny key in this massive fortress. Valene, can't you, you know, blow it up or something?" Alistair's voice sounded more panicked than annoyed, and Leliana couldn't blame him.

Valene let out a small grunt of displeasure. "Alright, take a quick rest. Get something to eat and drink while I look around." With that the mage set off to explore the dark corners of the wide expanse of paving stones. Holding her staff in one hand, the other glowed with a bright orange flame to light the darkness. Zevran and Alistair each moved as if to follow, caught each other's movement, then sat down and pulled out their packs.

Leliana took her own pack from her shoulder and retrieved a small piece of dried beef. She took small bites and chewed each slowly, closing her eyes and savoring the saltiness as she tried to pretend she was anywhere but the ruined fortress.

"Sten! Oghren! Over here, I've found a door." Valene's voice was distant and distorted by the echoing off bare stone. The two men got up and started jogging towards a small flicker. Zevran and Alistair were close on their heels, each of them eyeing the other when they thought they weren't being watched.

Exchanging looks with Morrigan and Wynne, Leliana sighed and took a quick drink from her water skin before following, adjusting the pack on her shoulders as she walked. The two mages followed as well.

The door was open and the five had already disappeared inside. Leliana walked in to an eerie blue glow. A small ball of light hovered near the ceiling, casting strange shadows along the carved walls. Stranger than that, however, were the ethereal forms of dwarves, standing at attention, all of them armored and holding weapons at the ready. She could see through them and approached one, but it did not react to her presence. It was very unlike the spirits they had encountered before; those had attacked them immediately, falling only after they had taken so much abuse but dealing cuts and bruises as well as any corporeal warrior.

Valene was already at the far end of the room, Alistair close by her side. Leliana could make out a small stone altar. The two Warden's huddled over it, speaking in hushed tones. Whatever was there, it seemed to be of at least middling interest.

The mage turned, her left hand holding something carefully, as if it was incredibly fragile. Approaching the center of the room to meet the others, Valene announced her find "I've found a key... I don't know if it's the right one, but-"

The spirits threw their heads back in unison and let out fearsome cries. Leliana responded with her own battle-cry, but hers was one to inspire hope, not fear. They had faced such as these before, in one of the Thaigs and Leliana knew the battle would not be easy. As always the Maker gave her strength as she prayed. _Maker, see us through..._

_

* * *

_

Sten stared at the edge of his sword in disbelief as the last spirit fell and disappeared. There was no blood on it, but he had felt it hit armor and flesh and bone. They had fought as real creatures, drawing blood from the others with ethereal weapons.

Surveying the room, Sten's eyes settled on the assassin. The elf had taken the worst injury in this battle and Valene and Wynne were bent over him. A blow from an axe had nearly taken off the arm and Valene's hands were slick with blood as she tried to realign broken bone and torn muscle. Zevran's eyes were closed and he made no protests of pain, but his chest rose and fell. Sten still wondered at the Warden's insistence on keeping him alive, but he had pledged an oath to follow her. He would keep that oath, even if her actions frequently ate away at his patience. She had saved his life and he would repay that debt through service. It was the only honor he still had left.

* * *

Valene didn't like leaving the two behind, but she felt there was no choice. Zevran had regained consciousness after nearly an hour of healing from Wynne, Morrigan and the application of poultices, but he had lost so much blood he barely had the strength to stand. Leaving him alone and unable to defend himself would have been a death sentence and his blood would have been on her hands. _It _is_ on my hands_. They were stained red and the grip on her staff was sticky. Morrigan had accepted the assignment to stay with little protestation. She knew her capabilities as well as Valene, and both women knew the healing was mostly done. He needed a protector and Morrigan would serve well. The key to the locked door had come at a high cost.

They were through, though, and the air in the tunnel felt fresher and less confined than the rest of the fort. Valene was beginning to think they were almost through, when Hespith's voice rang out again.

_The women they change and touch and violate, until you are filled with _them_._

Hepsith began laughing manically and a roar sounded through the tunnel as Valene turned a corner. A horrific sight met her eyes and one last whisper chilled her soul.

_Broodmother..._


	14. Chapter 13

_Broodmother_...

Hespith's voice echoed softly, barely audible after the thundering of roar of whatever lay ahead. Valene froze a few paces in front of him, her face a mask of horror as she stood transfixed by whatever lay around the corner. Alistiar rushed to her side, his head swam with the presence of the Taint

Roll after roll of grey, distended skin rippled down the length of the creature. It was massive, at least twice as tall as Sten, and it reeked of the Taint. A tiny head sat atop the mass of quivering flesh, lips pulled back far above the gum line, baring its yellow teeth in a permanent snarl. Folds of pink-grey flesh concealed any other facial features and the head dribbled into the neck in one long line of rolling fat. Small arms, almost useless, reached upwards, fist clenching as the thing, the _broodmother_ bellowed. The gore-strewn floor moved beneath his feet and tentacles rose in front of him, each rippling with muscle and slick with mucus. One lashed out at Valene, knocking her to her feet. Another struck at him, but he raised his shield just in time and braced for impact. The others were moving now, all of them startled into action. Alistair swung his sword at the tentacle, hacking it nearly in half and the broodmother snarled in pain. Valene was struggling to get to her feet when Sten rushed in, greatsword flashing as it worked through the fleshy tendrils.

Even as the appendages fell under his attacks, more sprang up. They attacked the group relentlessly while the broodmother remained on the far side of the cavern, unharmed and full of rage. It was Wynne who saved them – the others had been too intent on the battle to notice anything but their next strange foe.

"Get on the stone! They don't come through solid rock. Move!" Her voice had been strained, but determined. Valene was still on the gore-strewn floor, casting as best she could. At Wynne's words Sten's massive hand had grabbed one of her arms to drag her to the safety of a small island of rock. Tentacles surrounded the small haven, flailing at anyone within reach.

Finally regaining a sure footing, Valene had immediately directed her spells to the broodmother. "Leliana, with me! Wynne, keep us alive. The rest of you, keep those... things away from us.

In truth, the orders were hardly needed, but they gave everyone a direct purpose and allowed focus on the matter at hand. Alistair stayed near his fellow Warden as the sudden glow of magic cast the cavern in a strange light. He could feel the magic in his heightened state as the battle drew on all of his Templar instincts. She was powerful and determined, and Maker help anyone who got in her way.

A sudden firestorm surrounded the broodmother and wide spirals of flame licked at her. The tentacles became less robust, less purposed as the beast howled in pain and anger. The Taint inside Alistair rang with a sense of distress and urgency. Within moments, darkspawn had appeared, closing in on the small stone oasis. Leliana took out a hurlock with an arrow to the throat and moved to the next, but Valene kept her target. Fire, ice, electricity and stone assailed the grotesque monster, spell after spell.

He could sense her magic growing weak, but the broodmother appeared to be worse off. Much of her body was scarred or torn, and more than a dozen arrows protruded from the thing's abdomen. One final arrow into the creature's gaping mouth finished it, and as it fell the stone beneath his feet shook from the impact.

The last of the darkspawn were killed in minutes, and as the last shriek died, that damned voice one again echoed.

"That's where they come from. That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us.... that's why they feed us." Hespith's eyes flicked between Alistair and Valene, and he could almost feel the Taint in the dwarf. "But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka... my love... The Stone has punished me, dream friend. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal." Valene moved to follow the woman, but she disappeared.

The full meaning of Hespith's disjointed ramblings hit Alistair suddenly. The broodmother had been a dwarf, had been a woman, and she had been turned into a breeder of darkspawn. The fact of Hespith's survival made his head spin: she had been left alive to become another broodmother. He turned to Valene and saw the mage's hands shaking. Her staff lay on the ground and she stood still, eyes locked on the place Hespith had disappeared. Alistair had a feeling he knew why there weren't many women who ended up Grey Wardens if they could be captured and twisted into something so horrific.

Approaching Valene slowly, he reached out to touch her shoulder. She turned to face him, her grey eyes dark and full of dread. "Promise me you won't let that happen to me. When my time comes, if I go alone, I might..." She trailed off and licked her lips nervously.

A sudden tightness filled his chest and he found himself nodding. "I promise. We... we can go together and I won't let that happen." It was a strange thing to promise, particularly since the Calling came when it pleased, but he couldn't deny her that, not when the horror of what she could become lay in a dead, stinking pile several paces away.

The smallest of smiles twitched at her lips and relief softened her strained features. "Thank you." Alistair returned the smile and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, making her blush. The heat of her red cheeks felt warm against his hand.

Oghren's rough voice rang out on the far side of the stone room, breaking the silence and the moment. "There's a passage here! I think we're almost there!"

Valene kissed his palm lightly before pulling away. She surveyed the rest of the group and nodded approvingly at the lack of anything more than bruises. "We'll take a rest in the tunnel before seeing where it leads."

The tunnel may have been dark and strange, but there were no dead broodmothers in it. As they started into the darkness, Alistair found himself looking forward to pressing further into the Deep Roads since he had first entered them looking for Lord Dace two weeks ago.

* * *

A warm red glow lit up a large room at the end of the passage and heat flowed into the tunnel. Valene slowed, trying to feel for any darkspawn. There were some distant, but nothing close. Oghren laid a hand on her arm. "Warden, I'd advise going slow. If Branka's down this way, she wouldn't leave it undefended."

Squinting, Valene began walking again, keeping her slow pace. "I think she's waiting for us. See that cropping?" She pointed, gesturing to a small, vaguely humanoid shape.

Oghren rushed his footsteps a bit. "I think... yes, I see something. It could be her!" He started jogging towards the tunnel's mouth, his own words of caution lost in his desire to see his wife.

Muttering under her breath, Valene joined him. "At least he'll be the first to run anything his wife's laid out for us." As they entered the cavern, Valene found the source of the glow: magma. The room was small, with only another tunnel going deeper into the rock. A sudden clang of metal behind her, made her whirl and reach for her magic.

A jagged wall of rusty steel pieces had risen behind them, blocking their exit. It was then a woman's voice spoke.

"Finally found me, did you Oghren? And brought along surfacers? Too drunk to find any _real_ help?" Her voice was rough and bitter, her expression mocking, but Oghren seemed oblivious.

"Branka? It is you! By the Ancestors, it's good to see you." His face wore an expression of fulfillment. Contentment. Valene eyed Branka – if it really was her – warily.

"We were sent to find a Paragon to settle the election of a new king." Valene felt like her voice sounded very small compared to the two dwarves'.

"Ah... and this is your escort? Errand-boy?" Branka snorted derisively. "A girl with a stick, a few odds and ends worth of humans and a lone qunari? Ha!"

Oghren's expression sobered. "This here is a Grey Warden and deserves more respect than that, even if you _are_ a Paragon!"

An amused chuckle poured from the woman's lips. "Oh, an important messenger then, I see. Your errand is useless. I have no need of petty politics, I'm nearly there!"

Valene stepped forward and drew a deep breath before calling up to the woman. "If we help you, will you settle the election? We need the dwarves of Orzammar – there is a Blight surface-side."

Branka waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, get me to the Anvil and I'll help you with your silly little election." With that, she disappeared in the direction of the tunnel leading away from the steel wall.

Eyeing Oghren cautiously, Valene tried to keep her voice level. "You alright?"

The dwarf simply shook his hair and let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, I'm fine. She's always been crazy, so seeing her a little more off-kilter doesn't worry me one bit." There was a deep fondness in his voice and she wondered just how deep his feelings ran.

Unable to help herself, Valene's eyes widened in shock. "Hespith didn't worry you? The broodmother didn't?"

Glaring in annoyance Oghren shrugged. "I guess that's a bit strange, but it's not like she knew... right? Anyways, let's get on with this. The sooner we get the Anvil, the sooner Branka will come home."

As he passed her, Valene couldn't help but stare. Optimism from Oghren was like a summer snow. The Deep Roads did strange, strange things.

* * *

Oghren stepped over the body of what he thought was a dead dwarf. It was one of dozens, laid out in the middle of darkspawn corpses and the broken forms of stone golems. His earlier hope that Branka hadn't known the truth of what would happen had been quickly crushed under Branka's frank admittance that the women she'd let transform into the broodmothers had proved the most useful members of her House. He also began feeling grateful she hadn't taken him, particularly after the way some of the bodies had been mutilated.

The maze Caridin had devised was full of traps, golems and strange, deadly puzzles that tested the limits of their abilities. The last room had been the most difficult, a great stone wedge hanging from the ceiling, with four faces that drained the life from them and the spirits of dwarven warriors as their guardians. Leliana had been the one to figure out the trick. Branka stayed behind, never getting more than fifty or so paces from the group. The only thing about the place that hadn't been trying to kill them was the lyrium. Bright blue veins curled out of the ground and the rock in the ceiling and walls shone with the blue ore. The tunnel turned sharply and the frame of a great door lay only a dozen or so paces ahead. Oghren could see impressive streams of magma at the far end of the cavern and thick ropes of pure lyrium twisted their way out of the ground. Over half a dozen golems stood at attention in the room, and the shapes of more lay scattered on the floor.

Valene turned to them and spoke quietly. "Approach carefully. Leliana, let us know if you see any traps." The red-head nodded seriously and stepped up to take a place at the Warden's side.

As they crept into the room a strange metallic voice called out, coming from the largest golem. "Stop! My name is Caridin and once I was a Paragon of the dwarves of Orzammar. If you seek the Anvil then my tale must be told, or you, too, will suffer my mistakes."

Valene stopped and planted the end of her staff in the ground. Oghren thought she looked entirely too relaxed for the situation.

"I am Valene of the Grey Wardens. I seek the Anvil as it will lead to a new king and aid from the dwarves against the Blight. Speak quickly." Oghren's eyes bugged out. _The woman _is_ mad if she's getting snippety with a bleeding golem – and a Paragon at that!_

"As you wish. The Anvil has survived and I have remained to guard it. I created men of steel and stone, men that helped Orzammar push the Darkspawn back and reclaim Thaigs lost to them for decades, centuries. But the price was high and terrible: I needed a life, a soul, and I could not create such a thing."

The Warden shifted and Oghren watched the grip on her staff tighten. "And you took them, I presume?"

"Only volunteers at first, and that was all that I ever intended to take." Distorted as the voice was, Oghren thought he heard regret in the Paragon's voice. "But the king, Valtor, wanted more, and I obeyed until it was too much. At my refusal the king had my assistants put _me_ on the Anvil."

Now the mage took a step towards the steel construction and her voice was softer, less accusatory. "And now you wish retribution or restitution?"

The metal head nodded. "As I experienced the forging myself I realized the true depth of my crimes. My assistants could not fashion a control rod, however, so I was able to hide this place, to prevent others from gaining easy access. I have stayed alive solely to prevent others from using it. I would have destroyed it, but a golem cannot touch the Anvil with the intent to destroy, only if it approaches with the intent to forge. I need someone else to break it. I need _you_."

It was at that moment Branka burst into the room. "No! I've sacrificed everything in pursuit of the Anvil and you will not destroy it! The Anvil is the only thing that can save Orzammar!"

Oghren felt his heart clench. Valene looked between the two Paragons, one mad, the other wracked with grief and regret. Carridin pled once more. "Please, help me destroy it. It will only do more harm."

Tense moments passed slowly and he could see the Warden's mind work and wrestle, her eyes shifting as her mouth worked wordlessly. It was only when she looked at him that he knew her choice. Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "Oghren, I'm sorry..."

Pain struck Oghren deeply as he realized he had to choose between his insane wife who had abandoned him, or this human Warden who had only been with him a few days. He turned to the woman who had once shared his bed and studied her, hoping to find any trace of the girl he had married. There was nothing remaining, only madness and a thirst for the Anvil's power. No matter what he chose, Branka was already dead. _And you knew it from the moment she spoke, you were just too sodding stubborn to admit it._

He took a deep breath fixed his eyes on the Warden. "Maybe... maybe if we just let her have it, she'll come to her senses."

Valene's eyes filled with pity. "Oghren, she is mad and her entire house is dead or worse because of it. More darkspawn have been birthed to join the horde and kill dwarves because of her desire for the Anvil. She will not relent."

As he stared back into those cold grey eyes he saw the will behind the pity. She would strike him down if he insisted on protecting Branka. Hating himself, Branka and the Warden he could only nod weakly.

At that slight sign of ascent, Valene turned to Caridin. "I still need a Paragon to make a new king. Will _you_ help me?"

Caridin nodded. "Yes, anything. Just don't let the horrors of my creation happen again."

Branka let out a roar of fury as she saw Valene's head nod in agreement. "No! You are weak, just as all the others were weak. This is why the dwarves have been reduced to a tiny fraction of their former glory. The sacrifices _must_ be made. _He_ is the mad one!

Oghren shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Damn it, woman, are you so mad with power that you don't even realize the damage you've already done? The countless you've killed?"

Branka fixed him with a crazed look. "So, this is what you think our kingdom should look like? Ruins and darkspawn in former places of glory while we huddle near the surface?"

Valene had turned to face Branka, dropping into a defensive crouch as she did so. "No, Branka, you are wrong. If you sacrifice a people to save a kingdom, then the kingdom is already lost."

Branka lifted a long, thin rod and cried out. "As long as I live, you will not take it! Golems, to me!" As four of the golems sprang to life, Oghren moved towards his wife. He would at least do her the honor of killing her himself. She would not make it easy.

* * *

Valene watched as Caridin fell into the magma, the liquid stone enveloping him. His peace had finally come, after untold years of a life haunted by his transgressions. She had ended his pain and prevented any more unwilling souls from being trapped in the form of a golem, but to what end? The worry that she had doomed the dwarves to a slow death ate away at her. Branka had been mad, but the golems _would_ have been useful in defending Orzammar, even reclaiming a Thaig or two. Oghren's pain was worse though – she had borne witness to his pain as he had swung his massive axe and struck his wife square in the chest. Her armor had given way reluctantly, but she had fallen. The blow had not been fatal and she had lay there, helpless and suffering as her blood seeped out and surrounded her on the floor. It was only after the golems had been defeated that Oghren had noticed his wife wasn't dead. Valene had watched again as Branka's eyes glittered at her husband with nothing but rage. It had all ended with a heavy blow to the dwarf's neck. He had looked at Valene then and bored into her with his grey-green eyes as if to settle the blame squarely on her shoulders. And he was right.

Cradling the Paragon-forged crown gently, Valene started down the steep slope that led away from the shattered remains of the Anvil. Oghren's gaze was still on her and her stomach lurched. Setting her jaw firmly and doing her best to ignore the emotions that welled inside her, she approached the dwarf that had chosen the Warden over his wife. "I'm so sorry Oghren-"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Don't be, Warden. Branka was beyond saving." He let out a deep sigh and scratched a hand through his hair. "I guess we should get back with that sodding crown now, shouldn't we?"

The newly-crafted metal in her hands was the reason they had endured the horrors of the Deep Roads to begin with. It was such a small, insignificant thing beside what the past days had wrought. The price for the crown had been paid in blood many times over. "At the very least we should get back to Zevran and Morrigan before having a good long rest once we're on the other side of the Trenches. The Assembly is going to have to wait an extra day or two."

Oghren let out a little half-laugh that almost reached his eyes. "You know Warden, you're just vindictive enough to be fun. Alright then, sod the Assembly, we go find the elf and the witch."

As the dwarf tramped off, Valene noticed his axe was still dark red with blood. Branka's blood. Alistair approached her as she tucked the crown into her pack, his eyes watching the dwarf. "Is he alright? I've never seen him forget to clean his weapon."

"He will when he's ready." Alistair gave her a questioning look but she just shook her head and touched his arm lightly. "Let's go."

As she stepped forward her legs trembled with fatigue. She stumbled and fell onto the stone, the hard fall knocking the wind out of her. As she gasped to try and catch her breath, strong arms picked her up. It was Alistair. His face was full of concern as he held her securely. "And what about you?"

"I'm just tired. I can walk, I think." She was exhausted in every way, but hadn't felt it until now. She couldn't get out of the Trenches soon enough.

As he carefully put her down, Valene kept one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. It was harder than she anticipated and she realized she didn't have to hide her every weakness now – they had what they came for and now they only had to make it far enough to rest. Smiling up at Alistair she moved her arm around his waist. "Mind if I lean on you? I'm not quite as steady as I thought."

He returned the gesture, his arm supporting more of her weight than she had intended. "I just might be able to handle taking a stroll with my arm around you. It will be difficult though." He wore a confident smile and she felt a little of the day's tension release its hold on her. After so much time spent being strong, it felt good to have someone to lean on.


	15. Chapter 14

_AN: Thank you again for following and reading! Destiny of Souls has had 3,000 hits – I'm amazed and wanted to let you know I appreciate all of you reading. I promise things lighten up for a bit in this chapter. It was needed for myself as much as the characters after all that! The last scene in this chapter is partially inspired by the beautiful artwork of livejournal user tahara_l after she did a request piece for me. A link is in my profile._

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* * *

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The entire Assembly of Orzammar had their eyes locked on her, waiting for her to give an answer. They wanted to know who the Paragon had chosen. Caridin hadn't chosen though, telling her that she must make the decision. _But should they know that?_ Valene would stay with her original choice, but she wasn't sure the Assembly would accept her authority. Even if it was with the blessing of a Paragon, she was still an outsider and a Grey Warden. Then again, lying didn't become her, particularly if it was to make Bhelen feel better about himself. She would tell the truth.

Raising the crown high, Valene turned to the Assembly members and spoke loud and clear. "Paragon Caridin made no choice himself, but left the task of choosing Orzammar's next king to me."

The silence of the Assembly was broken by dozens of voices protesting, questioning and some yelling. One voice rang above them all. "Why should we listen to a surfacer?"

Another cried out in return. "It is the will of the Paragon!"

Oghren grumbled behind her. "Sodding idiots. Maybe you should've just lied to make them feel better."

The Assembly steward pounded his staff loudly against the marble floor. "Silence! If the Paragon's choice was that the Warden decide, then let her announce her choice!"

Valene saw all of the eyes turn to focus on her. She turned to face Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen again. Drawing a deep breath, she spoke the words that would determine the fate of Orzammar. "I choose Prince Bhelen."

Hushed whispers broke out and Valene's gaze drifted to Harrowmont. The old dwarf's face was sad and tired. She inclined her head slightly in respect. The dwarf saw the gesture and nodded once.

Bhelen seemed relieved at her choice, and for the first time she heard humility in his tone. "I am honored by your choice, Warden. I will do my best to serve the people of Orzammar."

The Steward approached her. "Warden, if I may?" He gestured to the crown. "Orzammar has been without a king far too long." Valene handed the crown over reluctantly. It was a real, tangible reminder of the lives lost to procure it. She would go to the Shaperate before leaving Orzammar and tell them everything. Hespith, Laryn and the others of House Branka sacrificed in the name of the Anvil would not be forgotten.

* * *

Alistair could feel the change in the air as they entered the Hall of the Paragons. The doors at the far side showed the faintest sliver of light. _Good, it's daytime_. It had been hard to keep track so deep under the stone, but their estimates had only been off by a day, one he assumed had been lost in the Deep Roads, when the hard pace and frequent battles had made the hours melt into each other. The four day rest they had taken after presenting the crown had been needed, and they had all taken the time to clean up, clear their minds and do little more than laze around. Valene had insisted on staying in the house in the commons, saying the preparation of anything in the Diamond Quarter would require too much effort. Alistair thought she really just wanted to stay away from Bhelen, particularly after attending Lord Harrowmont's execution. It had been a clean one, but she had protested and tried to persuade Bhelen to change his mind up until the moment the axe was swung. She had retained her composure in front of the others, but he had heard her crying in her room later that evening. He'd almost gone in, but had decided against it. She needed _some_ privacy, after all, and Orzammar was the last she'd get until they reached Redcliffe.

Alistair had been relieved when Valene announced the Arl's castle as their next destination. It made sense, certainly, but Alistair would be glad to see a familiar face, an easy ally. He knew the elves wouldn't want to be found, and even if they got lucky, they'd likely be hostile. The Arl would mean warm beds, good food and someone to ally the Bannorn in their favor. The only negative aspect was knowing he'd have to tell Valene who his father was. He wasn't looking forward to that, particularly with past experiences being what they were. It hadn't occurred to him to tell her earlier as he was so used to most people not knowing, not _needing_ to know, that it wasn't ever part of his mind. Besides, it wasn't as though he could actually introduce himself as Maric's bastard, was it? He'd tell her sometime, but sooner wouldn't necessarily be better.

* * *

Sten's eyes squinted in the sunlight, but he didn't mind the brightness. Even though it was too cold to feel any heat from the sun, it felt good to see sky again. The others were visibly relieved, aside from the dwarf, who mumbled to himself about falling into the sky. Sten did not understand how that was even possible, but he supposed dwarves believed strange things about the surface world. The Warden was perusing the varied wares of merchants outside of Orzammar and had a deep blue dress folded over one arm, and matching boots and gloves clutched in her hand. Sten didn't think it looked terribly practical, but then again, neither was Morrigan or Wynne's attire. The others were doing much the same, mostly purchasing needed items, such as arrows, vials of oil to keep weapons and armor cleaned, or a spare pair of gloves and boots. While the dwarven crafts had been fine, none had been large enough to fit any of them. The peddler they'd arrived with was still there, waiting for them to be on his way. He didn't seem at all put off by business going elsewhere – he knew their supplies would come from him once they were on the road.

Valene called to him, her voice excited. Sten marched over to her and inclined his head slightly. "You called?"

She gestured to a stand that had a wide range of mismatched armor. "Sten, it looks as though there's armor that will fit you. We've got plenty of gold and I'd rather have you in armor that fits. It will make battle easier."

Sten nodded, despite not believing there could be something that would fit him. Even the largest humans were much shorter, and the chainmail he wore was tight across his chest. It was worth a look, though, and it would be worth it even if the armor was only slightly larger. As they approached the stall a familiar gleam caught his eye. On an armor stand stood a set of silverite plate, the markings that denoted a brother of the beresaad on the chest and palrdons. A low growl emitted from his throat and the mage turned to look at him.

"Sten, what is it?" There was no fear in her face, only concern.

"This armor belonged to my brothers. The ones you saw in the Fade." He clenched his fists in anger. "I have not told you why I was in the cage. I was with my brothers of the beresaad and we were attacked by darkspawn on the shores of Lake Calenhad. The rest of them died, and I was struck unconscious as the last of them fell. A family of farmers rescued me, but I killed them all when I found my sword was gone."

He saw the Warden's face grow dark and when she spoke her tone was cold. "You killed an entire family who saved your life over your sword?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I hope it was worth it."

Shame and dishonor gripped his heart and he spoke through clenched teeth. "It was not. I was weak and my weakness put me in that cage."

The Warden's face softened slightly at that. "Then perhaps we should-"

She was cut off by an overly loud voice. A slight human male approached them, his clothes patched and his hair greasy. The human's eyes lingered on Valene lecherously. "Why, how may I help you, my lady?" The man's gaze flitted to Sten once, before locking themselves on him in horror. "I- I , uh, I don't think I'll have anything you want."

Sten stepped forward and picked the man up by the throat, all in one smooth movement. Weak legs kicked uselessly at Sten, and small hands grasped at his own. The man's frantic grabbing had no more strength than a kitten. "Where did you find this? Where did you get the qunari armor?"

Valene spoke, her voice overly smooth. "Why Sten, he can't answer questions without breathing. Put him down for now and we'll get answers."

With a low growl, Sten let the man drop. The sniveling coward gasped and clawed at his throat as if Sten's hands still grasped it. Valene nodded approvingly, drawing an annoyed huff from Sten. He was not in the mood for games.

"Now, you're going to tell us where you found this armor and these weapons or I'm going to let Sten get the answer out of you." The small man nodded frantically and spoke in a hoarse whisper, his eyes never leaving Sten's face.

"Yes, yes, anything. I found the armor on giants like him by Lake Calenhad. They were dead, I swear it!" Sten snorted in disgust. His sword had been gone by the time the family found him, so the man had not checked too closely. It was fortunate for him. The man let out a low mutter, so quiet as though he hadn't meant any to hear it. "Next time I'll make _sure_ they're dead." The dark thought that one or more of his brothers may have lived crossed his mind and Sten clenched his jaw until it hurt.

Valene had heard the low mumble as well. "Apparently not. You were stealing from someone who was very much alive. And now you're considering murder just to continue your shady little business." A ball of fire appeared in the mage's free hand, making the man flinch. "Sten is going to look for his sword now, and if he finds it we're going to take it without so much as a protest from you. Do you understand?"

The scavenger nodded eagerly. "Oh yes, yes, please do look. Take it! I'm sorry, I'll give you anything else you want at a discount."

Baring his teeth at the man, Sten shoved him aside and began going through the racks of weapons. There were dozens, all varying in size and material and style, but Asala was not there. "Is this all you have? My sword is not among these."

In a trembling voice, the man replied. "Y-yes, though I've sold a bit – only one sword so far, though."

"Then tell him who you sold it to." Valene's voice was impatient and hard and the orange flames flared brightly.

Sten turned to see the man scrambling to his feet. "I-I don't know! I swear it!" He adjusted his tunic and tried to look brave. "You're harassing me, you are, I swear this is honest work. And you're using magic to do it too. I can report you to the Chantry!"

Valene laughed and directed a spark at the man's shirt. As a bit of tunic began to smoke he beat at it frantically with his hands. "Honest work to steal from dead men? Very well, if you're going to insist on being difficult..." She nodded at Sten. "Pull his arms off."

Had this been for anything less than his sword, Sten may have laughed. The Warden was obviously disapproving of his slaughtering an innocent family, but she was even less approving of someone taking advantage of the dead or dying. Sten moved to comply with Valene's order – the first she'd given him that had brought a feeling of fulfillment. A wail from the man gave Sten pause. "Alright! I sold an enormous greatsword to a dwarf who was on his way to Redcliffe. His name was... Dain? Din? Maker, I can't remember his name, I swear it, but I don't imagine there's many dwarves there. Please, that's all I know!"

Valene eyed the man for a few moments before nodding. The ball of fire disappeared and the man collapsed to his knees in relief. "Very well. You'll live for now. If your information is bad –"

The human cut in again. "No, no I swear it!"

Sten felt a smile creep on his face as he rejoined Valene and they headed to the top of the pass to wait for the others. She eyed him curiously. "We'll get your sword back, Sten. I swear it." He bowed his head in a gesture of respect. Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. "Don't you ever smile, Sten?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I _am_ smiling." She blinked a few times before letting out a small laugh.

"Whatever you say, Sten." She settled onto a low stone wall and pulled out a strip of dried meat. The Deep Roads had proven her brave and capable of leading, but her promise to find his sword proved her worthy of his faith, even if they were unable to find it. He sat near her, and closed his eyes. As he began a small meditation he found himself feeling peace for the first time since Asala had left his hand.

* * *

Valene stretched her arms upward as the first glimpses of morning light began trickling through the trees. She'd taken the third watch, eager to have a good look at the night sky again. She'd also taken the chance to change into her new robes. A merchant with a Tranquil partner had sold them to her, and she could feel the protective power in them. She'd seen things like this before, and a few mages had worn them at Ostagar. They were a sort of battle robe, meant to imbue the mage who wore them with additional magical reserves, as well as much protection as hardened leather armor. The trick was something that required a combination of Tranquil and full enchanters to create, along with plenty of runes, and she had been surprised to find such a thing at Orzammar. The two had said to be from a shop called the Wonders of Thedas, a Chantry sanctioned business dealing in magic items, and they had carried more than one set of robes in hopes of stopping by the Circle Tower on their way back to Denerim. She'd procured a new staff as well, trading in her old one with only a little regret. It held memories of the Deep Roads and perhaps a new weapon in her hands would make it easier to forget her time there. It was finely worked, and had still cost a fair bit of silver on top of the trade in, but Bhelen and the other deshyr's had rewarded them handsomely. They'd also found a fair amount of precious and semi-precious stones as they picked their way back to Orzammar, which proved to be useful items for bartering. Something about the glint of a ruby or sapphire made people more willing to accept it for something well-crafted.

Adjusting her new gloves, Valene couldn't help glancing at the lightening sky again. The sunrise would never have caught her eye before, but now she couldn't stop marveling at the slow creep of the sun and the way it gently washed away the night. The light was dappled and pale, but with the crisp, cold mountain air it was enough. After over a month underground the sky was a wondrous sight.

"Morning." Alistair's voice caught her off guard and she turned towards the tent next to hers. His tunic was rumpled from sleep and his short hair managed to stick out in every direction. His boots had been hastily pulled on and weren't properly done up. They had set up camp earlier than usual the night before, just to allow everyone a chance to enjoy being topside or catch up on rest. Most were still asleep and Oghren's drunken snoring kept the camp from getting too-quiet. The dwarf had been overjoyed upon meeting up with Bodahn once he realized the amount of ale and spirits the merchant would be carrying with him. Valene let out a small laugh at Alistair's dishelved state, which earned her a mock-serious look. "What?" He glanced down at this tunic and his hands flew to his hair, trying to flatten it. "We can't all look as lovely as-" He stopped and cocked his head to the side. "What are you wearing?"

She flushed and ran her hands over her skirts self-consciously. "They're new robes. A merchant had them and they're as good as leather armor in terms of protection and they'll make my spells stronger too." The robes felt a bit snug around her hips, but otherwise they fit well. The boots were soft leather, with plenty of padding inside the shoe to make the long days spent travelling easier.

Alistair cleared his throat and nodded. "You look, well... you look beautiful." He grinned at her playfully. "I'd even say ravishing, though I may need a closer look."

A muffled mumble from Oghren's tent made Valene jump. "Heh, er... asschabs!" Glancing at Alistair, Valene suppressed a laugh. Alistair held out a hand to her and smiled. She walked over to him, her skirts whisking softly. As she made a mental note to remember she was now even less stealthy than before, Alistair's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.

"I was right. You _do_ look ravishing." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Though I still think you're too serious."

Her brow furrowed questioningly. "I'm too serious?"

He laughed and nodded. "There you go again! I think all this fighting and king-making is getting to you, you know" Suddenly he was sitting down, pulling her with him and she all but fell into his lap with a gasp of surprise. His arms encircled her waist and he kissed her cheek. She giggled softly at the sweet gesture. He pulled away long enough to give her a knowing smile. "See? Much prettier with a smile on your face."

Her mind and heart rested and relieved to be away from Orzammar, Valene pressed a hand to the back of his neck and kissed him playfully. He responded in turn and they were completely lost in each other until an annoyed grunt forced their attention. Morrigan stood several paces away, arms folded across her chest, and her face was full of disapproval. Valene quashed her first instinct to get up and instead stayed snuggled in Alistair's warm lap, despite the glare she was receiving. "Morrigan, good morning."

"'Tis _not_ a good morning when I wake up to this." The woman sighed and shook her head as if she were trying to wake up from a bad dream. "It is my turn to cook breakfast, I think. Would it be too much to ask you to disentangle yourselves and fetch a little bit more firewood?" The fire did appear to need a bit more fuel and Valene got up with a regretful sigh.

"Of course, I'll go find what you need." Morrigan turned towards the merchant's wagon to fetch the needed supplies. She turned to Alistair and helped him to his feet. He was making a face at the mage's retreating back and Valene whispered at him, trying to appear stern despite the smile on her face. "Oh stop it, she's a good cook. Besides, if you get your boots on straight, you can come along." His eyebrows shot up in wonder and a smile crept back on his lips.

"And if I happen to delay you, dear lady?" He bent down to tug at his boots, trying to get them properly straightened and buckled.

Valene bit her lip and felt an excited rush at the thought of being temporarily alone in the forest. "Then you shall have to make it up to me."

He hurriedly did the last buckle and straightened. "I look forward to every moment of it." He took her hand in his and she felt her heart leap at such a familiar touch. She had a feeling they'd be looking for firewood more often.


	16. Chapter 15

Valene felt her cheeks flush as she stepped out of the cover of the trees and back into the camp. Wynne's gaze was fixed on her and the older mage shook her head. Trying to ignore the disapproving gaze, Valene walked over to the fledgling fire and set down her load of wood, sorting the twigs, sticks and branches into small piles. Everyone in the camp knew the reason she and Alistair volunteered for the task every day, but it was Wynne's glares that embarrassed her the most.

They'd been on the road a week, and though several evenings of kisses was hardly what most would call a relationship, it was more than that. It was the way he'd told her the good – and bad – about being a Grey Warden, the way he'd helped her see Therien to a kinder fate, and his strength in the Deep Roads when hers had finally given out. Whatever Wynne might think she was seeing, it ran deeper than that. Moreover, Valene felt a contentment to it all, the way his arms felt so right and everything brightened when he smiled. She was falling in love again, and any time she thought to distance herself, protect them both, he'd say something or look at her in a way that made all rational thought flee. Being with him were the few moments in the day she didn't have to be a mage or a Grey Warden, and there were no responsibilities.

Wynne touched her shoulder. "Valene, do you mind if we chat?"

Trying not to appear as guarded as she felt, Valene nodded, knowing what was going to come next. The older mage was invaluable, but she tended to advice that wasn't particularly wanted, and even when Valene gave answers she thought would please Wynne, the older mage still lectured her about honor and responsibility. Valene respected Wynne - she was a Senior Enchanter, after all - but the constant lecturing was wearing on her nerves.

As they sat down on two stumps several paces from the fire, Wynne folded her hands in her lap and sat straight. "So, what is it that you and Alistair share?"

She had not expected Wynne to be so blunt and the question caught her off guard. Blushing again, she struggled to not fidget. "For now, we share what we can. Smiles, words, kisses."

The older mage nodded slowly. "Yes, I think everyone is aware of that. I meant to ask, what do you feel?"

Valene allowed herself the act of smoothing her skirts instead of running away in embarrassment. "I care for him very deeply, Wynne." She wasn't about to admit she was in love with the man. Letting her eyes settle on the older mage's, she straightened her back. "And I do not wish to harm him."

One of those delicate eyebrows arched at her and Wynne's face was incredulous. "You think it is so easy to prevent that under normal circumstances? What of your duties and oaths? You say you do not wish to hurt him, but you are a Grey Warden and the Blight may very well kill one or both of you."

Wynne's tone was irritating and Valene snapped. "You don't think I know that? Do you really think so little of me that you assume I would cast away my oaths?"

The older mage's face softened. "All I know is love is selfish. If you had to choose between ending the Blight and Alistair's life, which would it be?"

Fear clenched at her heart. The scenario Wynne presented was all too likely. Taking a deep breath, Valene closed her eyes. "I'd sacrifice myself to end the Blight before I let him, but if I had to..." Emotion threatened to overwhelm her as tears stung her eyes. "I'd do what was right." Her answer was ambiguous, but Valene didn't want to think of the two.

Wynne wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close. "I'm sorry dear, I did not mean to upset you. I'm just concerned for both of you, but him in particular. I can't imagine he's had any experience with women before this."

Shaking her head, Valene blinked back tears. "No, he hasn't." He'd admitted as much amidst blushes and stammering and she'd found his embarrassment sweet. She was hardly experienced herself, with only those few months of stolen kisses in the library with Rolan. This was different than that had been, but the same hesitation and sweetness was there.

"I don't want to see him hurt. I know how deeply losing Rolan affected you, and I want you to realize that something similar happening is even more likely now. The roads are dangerous and you have a Blight to end." Valene flinched at Wynne's mention of Rolan. She'd been so weak then, so young, and his death had been so unexpected. A different time, a different person; but if Alistair died, would his death bring the same pain Rolan's had? Half of it had been the expectation that the two of them would simply live their lives at the Tower, together, with nothing to interfere. He had made the Tower a haven instead of a cage. She had no illusions about that with Alistair.

"I know that Wynne. That won't happen again." Well, at least not where the others would see. If something happened or Alistair got cold feet she could keep her emotions schooled long enough to retreat to the privacy of her tent. If the worst happened, duty would be enough to drive her to see the Blight ended. Beyond that she would make no promises.

"I'm sorry for bringing this up dear, but it was something that concerned me." Wynne gave her an encouraging smile, but she did not return it.

"I understand." Valene pulled away from the older woman gently. "Now if you could do me a favor?"

Wynne gave her an odd look. "Well... I suppose. What is it?"

Valene fixed her eyes on Wynne's. "I know this isn't within my school of magic, but I need to learn how to heal."

Wynne nodded. "That would be very helpful. You won't be able to accomplish much for a while, but you'll learn quicker than is typically possible in the Tower for a few reasons. You're strong, talented and most importantly, we seem to get in enough skirmishes for plenty of practice." The last part was certainly true. They'd met scattered bands of darkspawn, rarely anything to be concerned about, but a cut here, a slash there, and the healing piled up. Smaller things like blisters or painful bruises were typically left unhealed as they were rarely worth the time and effort.

"We'll go over theory first, then practice. Would you like to start now or wait until dinner is finished?" Wynne's voice took on that knowing tone familiar to most of the Tower's instructors and Valene felt as though she were there again, a student eager and willing to learn. Despite only leaving the Tower a few months ago, the feeling was entirely unfamiliar. She had changed.

* * *

Alistair drew his sword as soon as he noticed Valene slipping her staff off of her shoulder, wondering what it would be this time. Blight wolves? Bears? Bandits? It wasn't darkspawn – he couldn't sense anything ahead, but she seemed to have a better feel for this than he did. She gave the signal to stop and he crouched down, watching her creep forward. His head still spun a bit when he tried to reconcile the woman that had led them through the Deep Roads with the one that snuck into the surrounding forest with him each evening. He knew the others in the party were aware of their relationship, but none had said anything, at least not to him. He assumed they didn't care so long as they got where they were going safely. The looks had been rather embarrassing, and Leliana had _giggled_ at him when she caught the two of them sneaking off. Valene had acted as thought nothing happened, but he'd stammered and sulked in his tent until his hunger drove him back out to face a cold dinner. His only real concern was breaking news of his parentage. He'd meant to have told her by now, but let himself get distracted by the way her new robes displayed the indent of her waist and the curve of her hips. The day they'd trudged through rain and mud had been particularly revealing. _Mmm... wet frocks_.

"Distracted, Alistair?" Wynne's voice intruded into his musings.

"Uh, no, of course not. I'm fine." He could feel his ears growing hot.

"Then why haven't you moved up yet?" Flicking his eyes at Wynne he frowned at the smug look on her face. _Bloody woman_.

"I was, ah, taking my time." Everyone else was already standing around what appeared to be a human merchant while Valene questioned him.

Wynne gave a laugh and grinned wickedly. "Enjoying the scenery, I take it?" With that she left to join the rest.

Muttering to himself, Alistair returned his sword to its sheath and reluctantly tramped up to the rest. "Dirty old woman."

"A control rod? For a golem?" Valene's tone was incredulous, with good reason. It's not as though they were exactly common, and they'd only get rarer now the Anvil was gone.

"Yes, please take it! It's useless to me now, but you look to be the sort of type that could use a golem." The man eyed Sten nervously as he said this. "I bought it, but there's a village called Honnleath – that's where the golem is – but I hear it's been overrun by darkspawn."

Valene let out a soft sigh and swung her pack of her shoulder. "And where is this village, exactly?" She withdrew her well-worn map of Ferelden.

The merchant leaned over and pointed to a location in the south western area of the map. "It's here – there will be a sign on the main road and a well-kept path leading from it. The village is a few days travel off the highway, one way, but there aren't any others near it, so it's an easy find."

"And you're just going to give it to me? That's hardly good business for a merchant." Valene's expression was incredulous.

"With the darkspawn crawling around the place there isn't a soul I could sell it to – and I don't even know if it works." Alistair let out a low chuckle of appreciation. Any other merchant he'd met would have talked the rod up as if it were a gift from the Maker himself and tried to charge twenty sovereigns. He only hoped the man was a better merchant when he wasn't alone and surrounded by over half a dozen armed travelers.

"It's worth a try if nothing else." Valene took the rod from the merchant and began carefully wrapping it in what appeared to be her old tunic.

The merchant smiled and bowed his head. "Now, I'm going to set off and look for that mule myself, if you don't mind." The man went a few steps before stopping and tapping his forehead. "Oh, I almost forgot! All you need to do to activate it is hold the rod and say 'dulef gar.' At least, that's what I was told."

"Thank you. Good luck finding your mule." Valene held the rod gingerly. It looked exactly like the one Branka had used. As they started off down the road, Alistair purposely held back. He wasn't going to give Wynne anything else to smirk about.

* * *

Zevran's dagger flashed in the sun before slitting the throat of hurlock, the darkspawn gurgling noisily as it died. The merchant hadn't been exaggerating when he had said Honnleath was overrun by darkspawn. Several villagers lay dead in the cobbled streets and a few had been hung from the gallows. Most of the doors on the houses had been bashed in and quick searches had revealed no survivors. The others were finishing off darkspawn that hadn't quite managed to die, the occasional scream cutting into the otherwise still air. After wiping his dagger clean on the darkspawn's tunic, Zevran strolled over to Valene. She'd proven remarkably elusive when it came to him, and he knew precisely what she and Alistair did when they wandered off every night after he had followed them quietly once. They kept things relatively chaste and he could tell both of them were novices in the art of love. The thought of Alistair fumbling with Valene made him even more determined to find a way to seduce her. Certainly she would prefer his experience over the Templar's clumsiness. His efforts to act uninterested and helpful had proven useless during their time in Orzammar, so he'd simply reverted to his usual tactics: outrageous compliments, incessant flirtation and suggestive jokes. He'd certainly drawn more blushes from her this way, as well as outright glares from Alistair. The Templar was entirely too easy to provoke

"So, dear Warden, do we activate the golem now?" Zevran still had no idea why everyone else had been so keen on the idea, particularly Sten, who usually looked as though he had lost an arm any time Valene announced the slightest delay. As an assassin the idea of a mass of living rock lumbering around behind him was not particularly appealing.

She settled her gaze on him and shook her head slightly. "No, there are more darkspawn nearby... I think they're inside the mill tower." She motioned to a door to her right, her head tilted slightly as though she were listening for something.

Zevran had worked out Valene's tendency to do the right thing frequently coincided with whatever the practical thing was. He admired that about her, particularly since it was that attitude that had compelled her to save his life. Judging by her face she held no expectation of finding anyone alive in the structure. She was simply intent on killing as many darkspawn as she could find.

"Zev, Alistair, Morrigan, come with me. I'd prefer we keep someone out here in case more darkspawn move in." Zevran raised an eyebrow at her use of his nickname. She hadn't done that before, but no one else seemed to pick up on it. As Valene moved towards the door, Zevran fell in behind her, taking the spot typically reserved for Alistair. As they moved down the narrow stairway, Zev could see at least part of the reason Alistair seemed to like it so much. The view was pleasing, particularly now she'd switched from thick leather to the close-cut robes.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Zev lightly placed a hand at the small of her back. "Would you like me to check ahead?" Her cheeks colored slightly and she shook her head.

"The darkspawn are down that passageway." She pointed to the far side of the room. "I can sense them." Alistair pushed his way to the other side of Valene as she spoke.

"You're right... about half a dozen? At least that's the closest group." The warrior flicked an annoyed look at Zevran. He simply grinned back.

Valene set off in the direction she'd indicated. "Yes, weapons at the ready. Alistair, they'll likely focus on you since you'll be the one waving the sword at them." Alistiar shot her a dirty look at the implication he'd be doing little else than swinging it around. "Morrigan, keeping him healed is your first priority, but any attack you can spare will be appreciated. Zevran, see if you can take out any archers before they have too much of a chance to do damage and stay hidden as long as possible. I'll go in first."

Alistair's mouth tightened at the last tactic she laid out. Zevran wasn't fond of her preference for barging into a room first, but she never did so without a spell half-way cast. That and her tactics were generally sound, so he didn't argue. As they crept down the hall Zevran melted into the shadows, all but disappearing from view. Valene began casting, her staff turning icy. At the last moment she ran through the doorway and unleashed the spell. Alistair was right behind her, slashing at the frozen figures. Zevran eased around the walls as quickly as he dared, his eyes focused on two archers. There was a loud crash that sounded like scattered glass, and one of the darkspawn lay in shattered, frozen pieces under a particularly hard blow from the warrior. A great mass of stone flung into another frozen figure and it cracked loudly before crumbling into large clumps of icy flesh. Both of his daggers lashed out, each finding their target in the genlock's back. They penetrated the creature's lungs and it slid forward off his blades. The other turned, trying to draw a mace, its clawed hand fumbling and clumsy. Zevran lunged forward, plunging steel into the thing's chest. He gave the weapon a twist and saw the life leave the genlock's face.

Alistair's heavy footsteps sounded behind him and Zevran turned in time to catch a glimpse of the two wardens continuing on. Zev glanced at Morrigan who raised her hands and shook her head. "Do not look at me. 'Twas _not_ my idea."

Zevran laughed. "Oh, I know that my dear. But I think the Wardens will get into trouble if we are not with them, yes?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes and started off in the direction Valene and Alistair had disappeared. The woman had been cool to him ever since he joined, but the time she had spent watching over him while the others pursued the Anvil had shown a slightly softer side. He hadn't been able to coax that back out of her, but she was good at masking her emotions, if not hiding them completely. Truthfully, it was the fact Valene had left anyone to stay with him that still had him wondering at her motives. He certainly wasn't deserving of such a thing, and she'd saved his life once. Memories of the actual healing were very fuzzy, and he only remembered a whisper "Forgive me" before he'd blacked out from the pain. Morrigan had told him Valene had done the dirty work, piecing his limb back together before Wynne had healed the wound, with Morrigan taking over when the older mage needed a rest. From what he gathered, Valene hadn't rested and had been the only one who insisted on leaving someone behind. Knowing that had left Zev with a sort of baffled respect for the Warden that he couldn't begin to put into words. He was entirely unused to people caring whether he lived or died, particularly since he'd once been hired to kill _her_.

As he jogged down the corridor to catch up to the Wardens, Zev began to wonder if it was Alistair who was driving his interest, or Valene herself.

* * *

Shale had rather enjoyed the darkspawn attack and was more than a little put out when some noisy group of humans, an elf, a dwarf and a creature nearing decent size had put an end to the fun. She wasn't sure if the worst part had been the chance that some of the insipid little villagers might make it out alive to spread birdseed around her again, or the fact that there were at least _three_ mages. Three! Having one mage master had been bad enough and Shale was glad her control rod had been sold by Wilhelm's screeching wife. Four of the ragtag group had wandered off into Wilhelm's cellar while the rest stood around fidgeting. _Well, the decently-sized thing knows how to stand still_. It was a nice change to experience quiet in the village. There was almost always some villager puttering about, muttering to itself about some insignificant worry.

A sudden stir caught Shale's attention. It seemed that the four had made out it alive _and_ unharmed, and saved some of the villagers as well. _How terribly unfortunate_. One of the mages that had gone into the cellar muttered something about a statue. Shale frowned inwardly. She certainly hoped it wasn't referring to her. Any hopes she had were dashed when the mage with the short brown hair procured a long, thin stick from its pack. It was a control rod. Shale began to rethink her position on Honnleath as it approached her, rod in hand. It raised the rod and said two words, "Dulen harn."

Shale felt the power that compelled her paralysis weaken before dissipating altogether. Moving one arm and then the other, she straightened with a loud crack and shook her head. It felt good to move again. She fixed her eyes on the young mage in front of her and sighed. "It _had_ to be another mage, didn't it?"

The grey-eyed mage looked up at her calmly. "I don't think it _had_ to be, but I am a mage, yes. And you are a golem."

Shale let out a small laugh. "Oh, well isn't it a clever one. Did it figure that out all by itself?"

It looked up at her with a frown. "Not very grateful, are you?"

"Grateful? Such a typical mage." Shrugging her shoulders Shale began wondering if movement was worth being plagued by mages again. "I've been here watching the villagers scurry about for so many years I can't even remember much before that. I remember my master and his insufferable arrogance, but little else."

A red-haired human spoke up, it's tone strange. "Oh, you poor thing! Frozen like that, with only a village to watch. You must have been so... bored."

The yellow-eyed mage looked rather unamused. "All the more reason for you to be grateful to the one who released you, is it not?"

Shale narrowed her eyes at the comment. "Another mage. How absolutely wonderful."

The one in front of her spoke again. "Do you have a name? I was told it was Shale, but if that is not the name you wish to be called, let me know."

_Courtesy from a mage?_ That was certainly unexpected. "Shale _is_ my name, yes. Though Wilhelm was always content to call me golem. 'Golem fetch me this. Golem, look frightening. My feet are tired, golem, I no longer wish to walk.'" Returning her gaze to the one that held the control rod, Shale sighed again. "I suppose you wish me to serve your every command?"

When it shook its head, Shale nearly gasped. "No."

"Then why did you come here?" Shale was beginning to worry the mage had more sinister motives.

The mage in front of her fidgeted slightly. "I'm a Grey Warden and there is a Blight. Your assistance would be appreciated."

Letting out a rough laugh, Shale gestured to the control rod. "Isn't that why you bought the rod? To control me?"

The mage's face tightened. "I know what it's like to be a virtual prisoner and bound simply by the fact of what you are. I'm not going to do the same to you. It's disgusting behavior."

The yellow-eyed one protested. "You mean we have travelled here for nothing if this creature does not wish to follow us? If I had known this would be such a fool's errand I would have waited for you all by the highway." It gave a sniff of disgust.

It was then that Shale realized her emotions and compulsions were her own. Even when Wilhelm had not been directly ordering her, though those times had been few enough, there had been something inside her ready to leap to obey. That feeling was gone now. "I feel no compulsion to do... well, anything I don't want to. Order me to do something."

Shale was hoping she'd get ordered to squash a bird or the yellow-eyed mage. "Fine. Pick up that basket." The grey-eyed mage gestured to the basket that held the hated birdseed. Shale recoiled.

"Ugh, no." A smile crossed her face as she stared at the basket that had been her dread for so many years. "I have no desire to follow your command. The rod does not work!" Had Shale been more excitable she had a feeling she would have clapped her hands with glee. As a substitute she brought a stone foot down on the basket, crushing it flat as birdseed spilled onto the ground. The possibilities she had, as a golem in a world of the small and squishy.

Strangely, the young mage looked relieved. "Oh good. That does make this simpler."

As her mind tried to grapple with the concept of freedom, Shale realized she had no idea what she wished to do now she had no master but herself. Eyeing the mage curiously, she watched its face for any signs of lying. "Did you truly intend to let me decide if I should follow you or not?"

Nodding, the young mage smiled. "Yes. You may come with us if you like, but you are under no obligation to do so."

A blonde human with a sword shifted nervously. "Are you sure? It _did_ kill its former master. And it's, well, massive and uncontrollable. It's not what I'd call... safe."

The mage seemed unperturbed. "Think of it as walking, talking siege weapon, Alistair. And I doubt anything we could dream up would warrant a killing."

Shale smiled. "Precisely. Unless you plan on ordering me about and expecting me to do whatever you wish, I shall leave you be."

As she followed the strange group out of Honnleath, Shale began to wonder what the Blight entailed. Whatever it was, it certainly couldn't involve a construct as magnificent as herself. _Which will leave me plenty of time to take my revenge on the feathered plague: pigeons_.


	17. Chapter 16

Alistair rubbed his palms on his trousers. They were two days away from Redcliffe and he was running out of time. He'd made the decision to tell her tonight and he'd gone over what he planned to say dozens of times as they'd travelled that day. Now they were finished with dinner and she was standing by the fire, hands held out for warmth. Approaching her quietly, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Valene? Can we go somewhere we can talk? Privately?" He glanced at the Antivan who sat a few paces off. The elf had been overbearing since leaving Orzammar and his growing familiarity with Valene was grating on him. Even worse, _she_ seemed to be comfortable around the assassin.

She smiled and nodded, completely at ease. "Of course. I was hoping to do the same." They hadn't gone to get firewood this evening, else Alistair would have told her then. She'd begun practicing the magic involved in healing with Wynne once they had pitched their tents and hadn't stopped until dinner was done. He took her slim hand in his and they walked off in silence until the campfire was only a dim light in the distance. He turned to her and took a deep breath.

"Valene, I have something important I need to tell you." She looked away nervously for a moment, before returning her gaze to his.

"I... I wanted to tell you something too." His heart began racing. _What could she possibly tell me? Maker, I hope things are alright..._

"You go first then! I'll tell you after." He tried not to sound panicked, but failed miserably.

She shook her head. "No, you spoke up first. Please, tell me."

Trying to think of a way out, he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Well... what if we tell each other at the same time? Then no one has to go first."

She laughed. "Very well. Count to three and then go?" Her eyes were filled with a playful light.

His stomach knotted up even as nodded in agreement. "Right, then. Count together?" At her grin he started, with her joining in. "One, two, three..."

He heard the words out of her mouth before even noticing whether he'd said what he'd meant to. "I'm in love with you..." Alistiar blinked several times, trying to comprehend what she'd said. _She's in love with _me_? _A grin broke out on his face as he realized the meaning of the words.

It was another whisper from her that broke his confusion. "You're a _prince_?" He finally noticed the look on her face. Her eyes were rimmed with tears and her entire expression was filled with confusion and hurt.

He stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. "What? No, I'm not, I'm just someone who happened to be fathered by a king. I'm still Alistair."

She pushed away from him and retreated a few steps. "Why didn't you tell me before?" He couldn't tell if she was furious or upset. "Didn't you trust me?"

_Maker, this must look bad_. "No, it's not that at all. It's just never been something I told anyone. Eamon and Duncan knew, Loghain might know, but that's it. Even Eamon's wife doesn't know. I should have told you earlier, but it didn't even occur to me until we set out for Redcliffe." In truth it had been the most inconvenient thing about his life and something he'd hoped to leave behind for good when he left the Grey Wardens. He was part of something he enjoyed for the first time in his life and had been among people who liked him for who he was. He didn't want that to change.

Anger tinged her features. "You've been mulling this over for three weeks and letting me believe anything could come of.. . of..." Her voice caught and he saw her fists clench. "Of us?"

"What are you talking about? This doesn't change the way I feel for you, it doesn't change anything. My parentage has never mattered before." His head was swimming, trying to think of a way to apologize properly, a soothe her fears and secure her trust again.

She remained silent, staring at her feet for several moments. He could see she was visibly trying to compose herself. When she finally spoke it was in a harsh whisper and her gaze drifted to his. "Did it ever occur to you that it mattered the moment Cailin died? He didn't have an heir. _You_ are Ferelden's rightful king."

He was caught speechless. His entire life he'd been told to not think about becoming king, to never entertain the idea of trying to raise a rebellion and become the bastard prince, that it never occurred to him he might one day be the only legitimate heir to the throne. The thought repulsed him. It would mean duties, nobles, responsibility for an entire nation... he hated leading; he didn't want any of that. Sighing softly, he looked away in shame. "I don't want to be king – I'd be terrible." A smile crept onto his face. "I'm certain half of Ferelden would be in flames within a month if I were to take the throne. And besides, I'm a Grey Warden. My place is with the Wardens and with you."

She shook her head and crossed her arms across her chest. "No, Alistair, it's not. That's just it. You are the heir and you will be expected to provide heirs." A bitter smile twisted her features. "With a noblewoman. Mages are supposed to be kept caged and out of sight, remember?"

Alistair felt as though he'd taken a heavy blow and his mouth went dry. He didn't want any of that, he wanted _her_. Suddenly feeling ill, he let his shoulders slump. "Valene, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep this from you, or make you feel like I was leading you on." Feeling tears in his own eyes, he rubbed at them with the back of his hand. "I don't want to lose you because a king and a maid couldn't keep their hands off each other."

Valene gave him a sour look. "Don't you think it's a bit late for that? I was never yours and you were never mine. Continuing this is pointless." Her words drew the anger out of him now.

Stepping towards her, he grabbed her shoulders and held her in place, fighting the urge to shake her in frustration. "This is all pointless? You say you love me and that's just supposed to stop mattering because I'm Maric's bastard?" Noticing the look of pain on her face, he let go and shook his head. "Maker, look at me. I'm being an idiot."

Tears were in her eyes now and though the anger still lingered, sadness was quickly overwhelming it. "I _do_ love you. That's why it's worse." She shook her head and blinked rapidly. "The one person in all of Ferelden and I fall in love with the one that's meant for the throne." She rubbed her face in her hands and let out a pained groan. "I never should have let this happen."

Licking his lips nervously, Alistair crossed his arms. "You regret this then?" When she looked away his voice fell to a whisper. "Valene, do you regret this. Regret _me_?"

Tears were running down her face and she spoke through clenched teeth. "I regret nearly sullying his royal highness on a _mage_." With the last word she took off towards camp, leaving him alone in the dark.

He felt something feral inside him begin hating her for that and he kicked the nearest branch as hard as he could. Anger surged with him hot and bright and he wanted to pin her down until she came to her senses or apologized. He didn't deserve being treated like that. She had crafted her words carefully and every one had hit their mark.

* * *

It was over an hour before he had calmed enough to creep into camp. Everyone was asleep, and Shale was standing watch as she had every night since joining them. She watched him a few moments with those bright, white-blue eyes. As he passed Valene's tent he heard the quiet sound of sniffling. What anger he had left melted a little and in a moment of weakness he touched her tent lightly and whispered. "I love you, Valene Amell."

The sounds stopped immediately and he heard nothing else from the tent. The anger rose again before he quashed down, focusing on the need for sleep. She'd wounded him deeply, tripping wires to emotions he hadn't thought himself capable of. The desire to be violent, to scream, to cry, to crawl back to her, all twisted inside him, churning his stomach with their conflicting implications. Forcing himself into a Templar meditation exercise, he pushed her from his mind.


	18. Chapter 17

Valene moved to curtsy as she was introduced to the bann, but he immediately stopped her. "Please, there's no need for that. If you're a friend of Alistair, you're a friend of mine." His expression was kind, but exhaustion drew his face down.

"Thank you, Bann Teagan, your support for the Grey Wardens is greatly appreciated." Inclining her head in a gesture of respect, she tried to block out Alistair's sour mood. He'd proven remarkably terse since the night she'd found out he was the heir to the throne, but it hadn't bothered her until now. _At least it's making it easier for me to forget I'm in love with the man_. Thinking about that stung, but she'd have to deal with that. It would fade in time. _I hope_. "We've been told something terrible is happening here and that the Arl is sick. What is it? Why is the castle closed?"

He sighed and his face filled with concern. "We know nothing of what has happened in the castle. Things have been coming out – they look as though they are the living dead, and by morning more are left dead to rise against us. We are struggling to hold on here. Most of our knights are gone, searching for the Urn in hopes of curing the Arl. Eamon fell sick months ago and he has lingered, but I cannot say if he still lives."

Their one ally that should have been swift and easy to fall in line was ill. _It's always something_. Valene's stomach churned. "How can we help you, Bann Teagan?"

The nobleman shook his head and raised his hands. "Please, titles are not necessary. You could talk to Murdock - he's the mayor - as well as Ser Perth. Murdock is training militia for defenses in front of the Chantry, while Ser Perth and the knights that remain are defending the path from the castle. They'll know precisely what is needed."

"Very well, I shall speak with them, but I wish to discuss strategy with the three of you later, if that is alright?" The bann didn't have the look of a warlord, but he was obviously concerned with his people and willing to do whatever was necessary.

"Excellent. Thank you for your help, my lady." He smiled at her now, and the expression smoothed away some of the fatigue that wore on his face. His eyes met hers they were full of gratitude and an odd warmth.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Well, we should be going then, right? It's not as though we're gaining daylight."

Pointedly ignoring Alistair, Valene kept her eyes on Teagan. "I'll try and be back by two hours to nightfall. That should give us plenty of time to organize defenses together and get everyone to their positions."

"I look forward to seeing you again, my lady." There was the slightest hint of pleasure in the man's smile.

As they left the chantry, Alistair kept pace at her shoulder, waiting until the doors shut behind them before snapping at her. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

Turning to him, she gave him the same smooth look she'd forced herself to wear outside the privacy of her tent since he'd confessed himself to be Maric's bastard. "Being polite? No, it's not necessary, but it is a proper social convention, particularly when conversing with nobility."

Alistair gritted his teeth and Morrigan laughed in delight. "Oh, this is going to be fun!" The woman's voice was eager, almost child-like, in her desire to see more stabs at Alistair. It wasn't his fault he was a bastard prince. Valene only faulted him for not telling her, not letting her know sooner. If she had known she could have stopped herself from falling in love. _Do you really believe that?_ Quashing the voice in the back of her head, she realized she wasn't sure _what _she believed any more, but it was a nice excuse to pin her hurt and shame on Alistair's bad timing. It was an excuse to distance herself from him and treat him as just another person who'd chosen to follow her. She hoped the bitter words she'd strewn at his feet that night had put him off pursuing her, and based off of his mood, it was a good start. Promising herself to be cordial, she drew a deep breath.

"Alistair, I'd like you with me to plan as well. I would appreciate your input once we've seen to any assistance the mayor or the knights need." A non-committal grunt was her only answer, but she knew he'd be present, even if it was simply to see what she was up to and point out any flaws. That or he'd change his mood again and try to win his way back into her good graces. He'd had fleeting moments of attempted sweetness, but her refusal to react any different always brought the anger back.

_But he's not going to get back in my favor. Not this time_. It wasn't exactly a promise. She'd broken the last one she'd made to herself falling for Alistair to begin with; only to find out he would have been unreachable even if she hadn't been tainted with magic. She _was_ a mage, though and Cullen's words still haunted her. _"Even an elf would have been less shameful. It had to be a _mage._"_ Despite Alistair's quiet confession in her tent, she felt the shame of her birth more deeply than she ever remembered. Shivering in the warm sunlight, Valene started towards a man directing the militia. She needed something to distract her, something that would make her feel like she was accomplishing something. Sten caught her eye and she remembered her oath to him.

"Sten, let's see if we can find that sword of yours." The qunari made an approving noise in his throat. _I'll at least keep this promise_.

* * *

Sten tried not to fidget as the Warden interrogated the man who called himself the mayor. He wanted to tear apart every house in the village looking for his sword, but he would remain calm. The mention of a dwarf caught his attention.

"He's a dwarf, excellent fighter, but he just won't help." Sten barely repressed a grunt of excitement. He was unused to feeling such flighty emotions and he found himself momentarily glad the Warden had agreed to help the village, even if though it seemed a fruitless task. If it would reunite him with Asala...

"Tell me where he is and I'll get him to fight for you. I can be... persuasive, when I need to be." Valene's own voice was tinged with eagerness.

"Just go up to the wooden walkways and head straight. He's at the end, right in the center. Easy house to find, but I warn you, he's barricaded himself in." The mayor eyed Sten and Shale, then flicked his eyes to Valene's staff. "Though, come to think of it, that shouldn't be a problem for the likes of you."

The mage laughed lightly and nodded. "Thank you, then. I'll get Owen working for you too." With that the mage turned and jogged off to the raised platforms that kept the houses from flooding with the seasonal ebb and flow of the lake. The mayor's directions were simple to follow and a lone house at the edge of the wooden pathway came into view.

Valene knocked on the door and called out. "Hello?" There was no reply. Leliana moved as if to offer to try and pick the lock, but the order cut through the air before she could do anything. "Shale? This door is in my way."

The golem laughed. "Oh, I do love it when you ask me to destroy things." Sten was glad to finally have a companion as strong as he. Shale may have been stronger, but that did not bother him. She was a wonderful construct and more useful than a controlled golem would have been. He had spent a night or two talking with her of late, each of them discussing the impossibility of the task that lay before the Wardens, small and weak as they both were. Shale was of a mind that they had no chance of all, but Sten had been surprised to find himself protesting. Valene had proven herself stronger than he had expected, despite being a woman _and_ a mage. It was a strange thing to follow a woman into battle and stranger still to come through so many battles relatively unscathed.

There was a roar as Shale swung her fist into the door and the wood splintered. A low, angry voice inside protested. "Hey! What do you think you're doing? This is my house!"

Valene stepped over the remains of the door lightly, taking care to avoid the larger splinters. "So you're Dwyn?" The dwarf nodded slightly. "You didn't answer your door, Dwynn."

The dwarf inside blinked in shock. "So that just gives you the right to destroy it?" Valene shrugged nonchalantly.

"Murdock says he needs you to fight with the militia tonight." Sten followed her inside and Valene gave him an approving look. "And I believe you purchased a sword that was stolen from my friend."

Dwynn looked up at Sten's face, his head bent back as far as he could manage in his armor. "I paid honest money for that sword!"

Sten growled and clenched his fists. "The sword was made for my hand alone. Money means nothing if the one it was made for still lives."

"Dwynn, I'm sorry about your door, I'll repay you. But Sten needs his sword and the mayor needs your fighting skills. You can choose to comply or I could... encourage you." Valene had crossed her arms over her chest, but Sten recognized the look. It was the same she had worn when frustrated with the dwarf prince's demands and the same look the pillager had received when he started getting difficult. This new side of the mage was proving to be a most welcome change.

Flicking his eyes between the qunari and the mage, Dwynn sighed heavily. "Fine, if that's how you're going to do this, I'll fight." Digging into a pocket, the dwarf found a key and flung it at Sten. He caught the key in his massive hands. "I'll go teach those sodding village fools how to swing a sword and that key will open the weapon chest in my bedroom." Glaring at the mage, Dwynn motioned to his two guards. "Let's go, boys. Looks like we all get to pretend we're big damn heroes."

Sten stared at the key in his hand and felt his arm tremble. He couldn't understand the hesitance he felt now the prospect of Asala back in his hand was so near. Valene took the key gently and smiled at him. "Let's go get this together."

He followed the mage into one of the small bedrooms, where a massive armor chest took up half of the floor. He watched as she bent down and placed the key in the lock. She turned it with a click and he felt his heart jump.

Licking his lips nervously, he tried to bring up a meditation to calm his nerves, but all of them had slipped from his mind. The lid lifted and a familiar hilt met his eyes. In a moment he was kneeling beside Valene, his right hand on the hilt of Asala, his soul. The grip fit his hand perfectly and the way the metal pressed into his palm brought him completeness and peace. He withdrew the sword slowly, testing the weight of it, remembering the way it acted as an extension of his arm when he was in battle. Running his free hand along the flat of the blade, he traced the swirling script engraved in the metal. "_Anaan esaam Qun." _He whispered the words reverently. He was Sten of the Beresaad who had been sent to answer a question and the strange warrior-woman beside him had returned his honor to him. He would serve her until the Blight was through and then he would return with the answer the Arishok sought.

Valene smiled at him, contentment filling her face. She had kept her promise to him. Sten rose to his feet and bowed as best as he could in the tiny room. "You have returned Asala to me, kadan. For this I am ever grateful."

Her brow wrinkled at the new title, but she asked nothing. "You are welcome, Sten. Use her well tonight."

Nodding gravely, he followed the mage as she returned to the village, mentioning something about a drunken blacksmith. Sten paid no mind. Tonight, when whatever monsters plagued the village came to them, he would be ready.

* * *

Alistair watched Valene as she sketched out a rough map of the village and began filling in defenses. It was more than two hours to sunset, but she'd retreated to the Chantry to draw out battle plans. He'd followed, unsure as to why, and he had readied himself for a cool dismissal. She had said nothing to him and simply asked the Revered Mother for vellum and something to write with. A tightness clutched his chest as he watched a strand of hair fall into her eyes. It did that often, and one of his favorite things was tucking it behind her ear as she blushed. It _had_ been one of his favorite things, but he doubted he'd do it again. _Maker, I want to_. Pushing the thought aside, he sighed and glanced around the chantry. Women and children were scattered about, many deep in prayer. The Revered Mother was glaring at Valene, likely unhappy to have a mage on the grounds. She hadn't been pleased about Valene telling the knights the sacred symbols of Andraste would protect them either, but Alistair could understand that. The men needed hope and even if the hope was misplaced it may mean the difference between living and dying for them. He had wanted to thank Valene, but he had been too stubborn, too angry over her positioning of the party in the upcoming battle, to say anything. The earlier barb aimed at him still stung and Morrigan had been teasing him mercilessly. The appraising looks Teagan had given her made him even more upset. Teagan had always been kind to him, but something about the way the bann had looked at Valene unsettled him for reasons he couldn't quite pin down.

He heard Valene sigh and mumble softly. "No, that's not right, the path turns the other way." She rubbed her forehead lightly before turning the map and tilting her head. She'd gotten a smudge of charcoal on her pale skin.

Alistair leaned towards Valene and kept his tone soft. _A peace offering, of sorts_. They still had to function as comrades in arms if nothing else, even if he wanted things to go back the way they were. "Do you need help with the map? I did grow up here. I might be able to help."

She nodded absently. "Yes, I can't get the angle of the village green right. I'm trying to figure out possible routes of approach. Murdock mentioned they'd come from the lake as well as the castle."

Getting up from his bench, Alistair moved behind Valene's shoulder and eyed the map. It was good, nothing approaching cartographer quality, but it was impressively accurate for someone who'd spent only a few hours in the village. Looking it over, he realized her mistake. "Ah, you drew the cliff here too far forward. The approach from the lake is much wider if you take the various paths through the houses into account." He gestured to the area.

"Of course, it is wider, isn't it?" The lines she had down now were faint and she sketched another in closer to where the cliff edge should be. "That better?"

"Yes, it's there. The map is very well done." She began darkening over existent lines and the map began to take more definite shape. He noticed her hands were blackened from the charcoal and remembered the smudge on her face. "Valene?"

She continued to draw, and inclined her head slightly. "Hmm?"

"You've got black on you." She paused and turned to look at him, her expression quizzical. He began reaching towards her face before he stopped himself. "You smudged your face a bit, earlier."

She blushed lightly and let out a sigh. "Oh, did I? It's this charcoal, it gets on everything." Sighing, she moved a hand towards her pocket before stopping herself. "Lovely, my hands are too dirty to get my square."

He felt a small part of him spring at the chance. _Maybe she just needs some time..._ He pulled out his own small square of cloth that he usually reserved for polishing his weapon. It was mostly clean, but he wasn't sure she'd want to deal with it. "This is... well, I've used it for a bit of polishing, but there's nothing bad on it." He turned it over to find a clean half. "See? What do you think?"

She'd returned to her drawing, sketching in barricades and the other defenses now. "Yes, that's fine."

The small part of his mind that had been excited grew larger, momentarily squashing the desire to be angry at her earlier flirtations towards Teagan and the cool demeanor she continued to give him. Reaching out with the cloth, he began wiping at the black mark on her cheek. Out of impulse he lifted a hand to move the strand of hair behind her ear. Valene's eyes closed and she shook her head. "No, Alistiar." Her voice was a barely audible whisper.

Withdrawing his hand as if he'd been bitten Alistiar tried to keep his voice smooth. "Sorry, it's just a habit." Her grey eyes were wary.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Teagan's voice interrupted. "Alistair, my lady Valene, I hope I'm not interrupting?"

The bann's eyes were on Alistair and questioning. Valene stood up, moving away from him as she did so. "Not at all, Teagan. And please, just Valene will do." Alistair hated the way she smiled at the man and it was then he recognized the emotion. _Jealousy_.

Teagan turned his own smile towards the mage. "As you wish, Valene. Murdock said he'd be here shortly, but I haven't seen Ser Perth." Teagan turned his gaze to the table and eyed the map approvingly. "Very well done!"

"Thank you, Teagan." Her tone was pleasant, but not overly pleased; a small victory. "Do you know a place I could wash up? I'm afraid charcoal isn't the cleanest material..." Alistair clenched his fists in anger. _She could have asked me a dozen times_. Two could play at petty games.

"Of course, if you'll come this way?" Teagan gestured to the far side of the chantry and Alistair frowned, watching the two as they crossed the smooth stone floor. Keeping his eyes on them, Alistair flinched as he saw Teagan raise his hand to Valene's cheek, rubbing at the same spot _he_ was supposed to have cleaned. Standing up suddenly, he walked briskly towards the Chantry doors. He needed air.

* * *

Pointing to the windmill on her sketchy map of Redcliffe, Valene eyed the knight. "Ser Perth, you and your men will take a stand here. I understand Dwyn is going to be joining you as well?" At the knight's nod, Valene continued. "Very well then. In that case Morrigan, Leliana and myself will be with your men. We can offer some assistance healing and damaging the monsters before they even reach you. The oil we found should help as well. With any luck they'll be easily dispatched by the time they're through all of that."

Moving her finger to the village commons, Valene began tracing the defenses already set up by Murdock and the militia. "Your defenses will help, but you've a weak spot near the Chantry. You'll need to keep men there as much as possible, or else those things will have a good chance of getting in here." The mayor turned his head to better see the map. "Shale, Sten, Ogrhen, Alistiar, Wynne and Zevran will assist you. I noticed the militia is very lightly armored and you'll need a healer. Wynne will do that for you, and you'll have four skilled fighters who can take heavy blows. Keep your archers out of the fray or they'll fall quickly."

She saw Alistair shift uncomfortably across the table. She raised her gaze to him, but he said nothing. The four men were looking at her, none of them offering objections. She began wondering how she'd ended up in charge when the knights had more experience in defense and tactics. Ser Perth seemed to think Grey Wardens could do no wrong, something that had made her laugh – they were far from perfect and they were the newest members of the order, stranded in a country with a Blight. She was fairly certain the knight would be rethinking his position had he realized the party's "strategy" usually consisted of rushing in and fighting until everything was dead. "Any questions or concerns?"

Ser Perth shook his head. "No, Warden, your plan is sound. It will be an honor to have you by our side." His confidence in her made her smile. He was dedicated to the defense of Redcliffe and didn't seem to fear dying if it meant the village was saved.

Murdock was less optimistic, but no less brave. "You're right about our armor – Owen's repaired what was damaged, and sharpened our weapons, so we're in the best shape we can be, but the men just aren't strong enough to wear that heavy plate. I'll try and get it into my boys' heads that if they've got a bow they're to stay out of things."

She settled her gaze on Alistair. "What do you think?" The memory of the way he'd touched her earlier had caught her off guard. He'd been so apprehensive, acting as though she would bolt at any moment. Giving in had been tempting before she had remembered her place in all of this: far, _far_ below him.

He was eyeing the map carefully, nodding. "Very sound tactics. The defense should work." He turned the map towards him and pointed to the narrow ravine that led from the castle. "I know there's going to be fire at the end of this, and I'm not exactly an expert on magic, but you could cast one of your firestorms here, or the one with all the lightning." He glanced up at her, his look hard.

"Yes, that will help, won't it?" She hadn't even considered that. "It won't do much good once they're past, and the knights will have to stay out of it, but it should be far enough out of their way that it won't cause problems."

Ser Perth shifted nervously. "My lady? Will my men be in any danger if you do this?"

She shook her head and let out a small laugh. "Not unless they plan on charging through the fire first. As long as no one does that they'll be well out of reach of anything I cast." The knight's face was still lined with worry. "Ser Perth, I promise – I won't release a spell if it will harm an ally. I've plenty that are focused on one target and a mage's staff never misses." A spell could be blocked by a wall or barrier, but it wouldn't hit an unintended target unless specifically geared towards widespread damage.

He looked relieved at that and nodded. "Then yes, anything that can harm the creatures will work."

It was then Teagan spoke up. "I cannot express how grateful we are to have you here. The very presence of two Grey Wardens has raised the men's spirits significantly." She smiled and bowed her head slightly. "And where would you like me?"

She paused a moment, going over her decision once more. He'd mentioned he used a sword and shield to fight, and knew enough to hold ground, but he'd also admitted he was no knight. Putting him in the thick of battle would almost be a death sentence and so long as Arl Eamon was sick, the bann's leadership was badly needed. Placing him in the Chantry would wound his pride and run the risk of lessening the confidence the people currently placed in him. Deciding his position had not been easy, but she felt she had come to a satisfying compromise. "You are to be the Chantry's last defense. I've got a young man to stand as a messenger should the commons be overrun, but if that happens it is your duty to hold the doors until Ser Perth and myself can make it down with additional men." The young man would be on the path between the two fronts and had strict instructions to call on her for help should Murdock fall. She was uncertain the militia would hold if he fell.

She eyed the bann's face carefully, watching for a reaction. When she saw the combination of relief and surprise on his face, she knew she had chosen well. "Then I shall stay my post until the battle is over or my life is forfeit."

They were bold words, but the bann was a sensible man – he wouldn't seek out death and try to make himself a martyr. She knew he didn't want to die, but she didn't doubt he'd take the charge seriously. It was a good compromise and the most likely to see him through the night if things in the castle were worse than they expected. "Let's hope it's the former, for all of us." She stood up straight, her back aching from the strange way she had been leaning over the map. Trying to hide the desire to yawn, she clenched her jaw and nodded with what she hoped was confidence. "Right then. Ser Perth and Murdock, get your men ready and in position. Those who travel with me already know where they are to be and will be in position with you at least half an hour before the sun sets. May the Maker watch over you all."

The two men nodded and mumbled a blessing in return before leaving towards the door. Alistair inclined his head slightly. "Maker watch over you, Valene." He'd actually _yelled_ at her earlier, calling her a stupid fool for placing him far away from her. It was completely opposite of the way they usually fought, true, but when she'd pointed out _every_ member of the party capable of hand to hand combat would be present, he had deflated a little and resorted to pleading. He'd been desperate enough to try and convince her to take Zevran to keep her safe. In the end he'd relented, but she could tell he was still unhappy with the decision. She was fairly confident the monsters would never reach her between the fire and the knights, and even if they did it would be simple enough to freeze them in their tracks. Morrigan and Leliana were comfortable with the plan as well, which had eased her mind some. She hadn't wished to appear fool-hardy, but the militia only had leather armor, with less than half of that studded or cured.

Smiling at Alistair she nodded. "And you as well. Stay safe." _Live_. Whatever their personal problems, she needed another Grey Wardern in a Blight. And she'd greatly prefer he put off dying until she could convince herself he was nothing more than a friend or companion.

He turned and started into a light jog, catching up to the mayor quickly. Only Bann Teagan was left at the table. "My lady, you handled a rather... delicate situation well. I thank you for it."

Tearing her gaze away from Alistair's retreating form she nodded. "Of course, I understand. The people need you. I doubt anything will get close enough for you to swing at it, but if they do, I have complete confidence you'll do well."

Teagan moved around the table until he was almost touching her. "Then your confidence will see me through this." He took one of her hands and lifted it to his lips and his eyes never left her face. She hadn't noticed how handsome the bann was until now. She'd spent the day flirting with him, true, but she hadn't taken the chance to really look at him. His smile was confident, his eyes intent. His touch was so different from Alistair's, practiced in the gesture, but cautious all the same. She felt her cheeks redden and Teagan released her hand gently. "Here I flirt while there are more serious things at hand. Forgive my boldness. You do intrigue me though, Valene, I cannot hide that. Perhaps we could talk once this is over?"

Lowering her eyes she tried to steady her breathing. "Of course. And if I may say, your boldness does you credit." It did, even if his openness made her nervous. Raising her eyes just enough to catch his smile she took a small step back. "I do have much to prepare though, if you would excuse me?"

He bowed slightly and gave her a gracious smile. "Of course, please don't let me keep you. May the Maker keep you in His gaze, always."

Returning the smile she curtsied slightly. "May He watch over you as well." She turned and kept a steady pace as best she could, wanting to flee the Chantry. Teagan didn't seem at all put off by the fact that she was a mage – if anything, he was intrigued by it. In an earlier attempt to distract his attention from her she had inquired about his family, only to find he had none. He had turned the question on her as if it were the most natural thing in the world to ask if a mage was married. When she had pointed out what she was, the bann had only laughed in delight and reminded her it was not illegal. He had smiled then, his eyes drinking in her face as he had said he could think of much worse things than marrying a mage such as herself. The hint of a proposition had made her blush until she felt dizzy. This wasn't what she wanted – she wanted Alistair, but seeing as how he was forbidden, she was desperately trying to convince herself it would be best if she was involved with no one. Flirting with the bann had been an easy way to drive a wedge between herself and Alistair, but the nobleman wasn't playing at games the way she had hoped. Teagan was easy on the eyes, as well, and it wasn't as though she would accept the proposition, should it ever arise. Even if a bann could get away with what a king could not, the last thing she needed was another man trying to worm his way into her heart. Alistair may have succeeded in finding a place there, but once she dug him out again, it would stay closed. _And, assuming I _can_ dig him out, that _is_ a promise._


	19. Chapter 18

Valene bowed her head as the Revered Mother called the villagers to give thanks to the Maker. Most of them had survived the night, but not all. The militia had several casualties, including Murdock, who had fallen after taking a mace to his skull. Wynne hadn't been able to heal something so serious from a distance and by the time someone had risked dragging the mayor's limp body towards her, he was already gone. The village commons had been the hardest hit and she was cursing herself for not placing Morrigan down there as well. The knights had mostly hacked the head or limbs off of whatever was left of the animated corpses by the time they stumbled out of the oil-fueled fires. She'd kept a firestorm in the ravine, just as Alistair had suggested, and it had worked beautifully. Half-way through the night the messenger had come to her, calling for her help after Murdock had fallen. She'd taken Dwyn and his two thugs and run down the path, nearly tripping over her skirts. The help had been badly needed, and in the end she'd sent word for Morrigan to come as soon as the pathway to the castle was secure. The other mage had come quickly, stepping into her role as healer smoothly. Valene still wasn't skilled enough to heal properly, but she had at least been able to stop the flow of blood from some of the larger wounds. It was the first step to healing, and her most practiced so far, but trying it on moving targets had proven draining.

A hand lightly pressed the small of her back and she turned. It was Teagan. He'd fought well enough, managing to kill the few creatures that had stumbled towards the Chantry. He leaned over and spoke quietly, the light breath tickling her ear. "Gather a small party and meet me by the windmill. I have a plan for getting into the castle." With those words he was gone, slipping through the crowd while the villagers swarmed the people they saw as their heroes. Alistair's mood seemed to be slightly improved, but he was still cool towards her. It suited her well enough – it was easier to distance herself when his own tone held little emotion and it lessened her own desire to be petty.

Zevran approached her, eyeing the bann carefully. "And what were you whispering about, my dear Warden?" He turned to her and flashed a charming smile. "Anything fun I could enjoy with you and Bann Teagan?"

"I wouldn't call it fun, but yes, I was going to bring you along." The elf looked at her questioningly.  
"Oh? Now this is intriguing. Do tell." Eyeing Zevran, she let out a small sigh.

"Oh you know, the work is never done, we're going to sneak into the castle, I need skilled fighters... the usual. It will give us a chance to look for the smith's daughter, though." Zevran had proven remarkably adept at sneaking into a room without being noticed, which was useful when she needed to know what lay ahead. She just had to remember to not _call_ it sneaking when he was around. He preferred to say he was being "stealthy" but it was all the same to her.

Zevran shook his head. "Ah, one day I shall teach you the joy of slipping into more... interesting things." At her incredulous look, the assassin laughed. "You have no imagination."

She found Zevran was growing on her by the day. He'd proven a good friend, if overzealous when it came to discussing her looks, but he was the same with the rest of the women in the group, as well as any they met. She simply took it as part of his nature and left it at that. He was easy-going and good humored, and he had a rather large array of what he preferred to call "professional anecdotes" that he'd sometimes share while making dinner. She'd initially supervised his cooking to watch for poison, but over time she'd come to appreciate his food and company. With Zevran trusted to cook by the rest of the party, and Morrigan, Leliana and Sten turning out remarkably good meals considering their limitations, Oghren, Alistair and herself had been banned from cooking and relegated to cleaning up. Wynne's concoctions were edible, but bland to the point of boring. The only thing anyone let her cook now was a pot of oat mush for breakfast.

"Oh, I have an imagination, Zev." Yesterday she'd imagined strangling Alistair at least twice, between fantasies of some _other_ bastard brother springing up to take the throne, leaving them to each other. Even a babe bastard of Cailan's would do well enough. Catching Zevran's curious expression, she allowed herself a small smile. "I promise."

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Any chance you might let me in on your fantasies? Or perhaps I could assist you in making them more... tangible?"

"That would defeat the purpose of using my imagination, would it not?" At his pout, she laughed. It felt good to release a little tension after the long night, particularly when the castle waited for them.

Zevran sighed dramatically. "I suppose, though you could certainly spare a thought or two, no?"

"Not right now. Teagan is waiting for us." Scanning the crowd of people she made note of Alistair and Morrigan in the crowd. Oghren eluded her gaze, though. Wondering if he'd already wandered off to the tavern, she turned to Zevran. "Would you mind finding Oghren for me? Take Morrigan with you, and whenever you find him just drag him up to the windmill – I'll be there shortly."

Zevran bowed and flashed a grin. "As you wish, my dear Warden." The Antivan melted into the crowd and disappeared under her direct gaze. She still couldn't figure out how he managed.

After two failed attempts to catch Alistair's eye, Valene plunged into the crowd after him. The villagers seemed to be torn between thanking their various rescuers and maintaining a respectful distance. _Well, in my case it may be more out of fear than respect_. She'd already heard one woman mumble something about a singed roof while eyeing Valene contemptuously. That sort of complaint after managing to survive the night made her want to smack some sense into the woman, but that wouldn't do any good. Particularly not with Mother Hannah flicking her eyes between the three mages. Alistair had told the Revered Mother he had Templar abilities after some rather heated protestation, which had drawn heated glares from Morrigan and a frown from Wynne. Valene had acted as though it didn't bother her, but it did. Even offering something like that to soothe concerns was alarming when she considered Alistair's deep dislike for the apostate. Besides, she wasn't entirely certain he'd regret momentarily annulling her own power out of spite. She'd seen him use his abilities in battles, and didn't think he'd be much of a threat to her. The two of them may have been doing small, petty things to goad the other, but that was hardly petty. She didn't think he was practiced enough to fully annul her talents anyway, and should he try he'd get a very personal lesson in just how conductive steel could be. _Maker, look at me. I'm seriously considering Alistair using his abilities on me for revenge_. She needed to get the thoughts out of her head quickly, regardless of his recent hostility. Suspicion wouldn't serve either of them well, however petty both of them were being.

She found Alistair conversing with a rather pretty village girl who seemed to be star-struck by the newfound hero, with two more hanging back and whispering to each other furiously. "Alistair?" He glanced at her with the slightest of nods. Barely keeping the frown from her face, Valene drew a breath before continuing. "Teagan said he has a way into the castle and wanted me to get a small group. I figured you'd want to be there to find the Arl." She didn't care to mention he'd be useful mostly due to his knowledge of the castle layout.

"You'll have to excuse me, my dear, I've got important things to attend to." Alistair bowed to the girl and Valene's temper flared momentarily before she wrestled it under control again. He turned to her then and sighed as if she'd denied him the right to breathe. "Well, that's some progress, isn't it? Is anyone else going to find out what your precious bann has planned, or am I the only one with that particular pleasure?"

Valene closed her eyes and tried not to grimmace. "Morrigan, Oghren and Zevran. I'd take Wynne, but she needs rest more than anyone. Oghren's likely drunk, but I think he actually fights better that way." She wasn't exaggerating – the dwarf fought like a man possessed when he had at least a shot or two of hard liquor under his belt, which was any time of day except the ten minutes after waking up. Even when he could barely walk, battle brought out the best in him.

Alistair laughed. "Yes, I think you're right about that." He caught her gaze and his previously smug expression turned sheepish. "Sorry about that with the girl. I supposed I looked a bit of a fool."

The flitting between emotions was driving Valene mad. She wished he'd settle on being angry or being friendly and just stick with that. Nevertheless, seeing glimpses of his usual self was hopeful. "You're free to flirt with whomever you wish. Don't let me stop you."

His face fell a bit at her apparent lack of interest, before replying. "Then I'm sorry about the jab at Teagan, too. I've known him since I was a child and he's a good man."

Nodding slightly, Valene glanced towards the mill. "Yes, he's kept a cool enough head through all of this. Let's see what he has planned, shall we?"

* * *

"Teagan, it is terrible! The mage, he is behind all of this, I know it!" Isolde was hysterical, her voice wavering on the edge of crying. Teagan was hugging the woman tightly, trying to calm her down. Alistair couldn't imagine why there would be a mage at Redcliffe – from what he'd heard, Isolde had sent the healers from the Tower away after they had failed to cure Eamon.

"Isolde, what mage are you talking about? What has happened?" Even with the urgent undertone, the bann managed to keep his voice comforting. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair could see Valene eyeing the other woman cautiously. He couldn't blame her, really. The fact that Isoled lived was suspicious, given the circumstances.

"I hired a mage outside the Circle to instruct Connor. He had started to show... signs." Teagan started to protest, but Isolde continued on, her voice raising in pitch. "I didn't want them to take my son away, and they would! I couldn't let that happen!" She was almost sobbing now and her hands were clasped tightly, as if she was praying. "The mage, though, he poisoned Eamon, and now this... this evil! It must be his fault, Teagan, I have no other answers."

A soft curse from Valene seemed to pass unheard by Isolde, and Alistair was tempted to join her. Isolde's refusal to send Connor to the Tower had provided an easy avenue to the Arl, during a time when his continued existence could be very troublesome for Loghain. Alistair couldn't be certain the Teryn was behind it, but it reeked of something done for political gain. After all, who else would have the clout with the Chantry to protect a mage outside of the Circle's reach? _Well, besides the Grey Wardens_. Morrigan and Sten were constant reminders that the Wardens seemed to be an exception to everything.

Teagan's face was pale and shocked, as if he didn't quite know what to say. Alistair didn't blame the man – it was a serious offense and the repercussions were astounding. "Did Eamon know of this?" Alistair knew the answer before Isolde answered.

"No, I could not tell him or he would do what he thought was 'right,' even at the expense of our son!" Isolde's voice was full of disdain at the idea her husband would have the audacity to follow the law.

Despite holding back this far, the last comment finally pushed Valene over the edge, and when she spoke, bitterness filled her voice. "Because no _other_ parent ever wished their children weren't mages, only _you_ Lady Isolde. And no one else has done the right thing and packed their child off to the Tower, where they could be properly and _safely_ trained." Letting out a spiteful laugh, Valene shook her head. "You are an incredibly selfish, stupid woman, _Lady_ Isolde."

Alistair, Isolde and Teagan blinked in unison at the sudden outburst. It was so sudden, so vehement, yet there was truth in all of the words. Even though he had been a Templar, Alistair usually forgot Valene had spent most of her life in the Tower, believing she would rarely leave it, if ever. She had always seemed so at ease with leading, so comfortable with her magic, that he rarely gave it a second thought. Memories of what her parents had said and done drifted back and Alistair felt his jaw clench. When she'd told him how they had reacted it had angered, no, _infuriated_ him that someone could be so callous with their own flesh and blood, and a child at that. He felt a sudden, unexpected surge of pity for Valene – whatever she did as a grown woman, she hadn't deserved that as a child.

Isolde had managed to compose herself enough to speak, but she waited a few moments, as if to give the impression she was simply waiting to make sure the attention was on her. "Who is this woman, Teagan?"

Alistair couldn't keep the bad memories from twisting his view of the woman. He'd forgotten just how irritating an Orlesian accent could be – Leliana's was quite pleasant, but Isolde manage to draw out every word as if it were a whine. She'd only become more settled in her role as Arlessa during the years Alistair had been gone, and she was treating Valene as if she were no better than a servant caught underfoot. Regardless of the way the mage had managed to put his emotions in such an uproar, particularly since they had arrived in Redcliffe, she deserved more respect than that. _Even if she _did_ sound like a right bitch, just now_. She'd been truthful, and called Lady Isolde on a grievous mistake that had put her husband's life in limbo. As much as he didn't want to bring attention to himself, he felt the need to at least defend the dignity of the Grey Wardens.

"Lady Isolde, she's a Grey Warden, as am I. We're the reason the village is still standing." It wasn't the most humble statement, but Isolde hadn't even asked about the state of the village, much less how the people had fared.

The Orlesian turned to him and he could see the lines time and worry had carved into her face. She was still pretty, but he could only see the face twisted at him in disgust. It had been a terrifying sight for his childhood self and he had been happy to stay in the stables, a place she never ventured. "Alistair? What are _you_ doing here?" Her nose wrinkled and her tone was disgusted, as if he'd come crawling to her covered in his own filth.

He cleared his throat to try and assure his voice would stay level. Now was no time to bring up just how horrible she actually was, even if he thought it would do her well to hear it. "We need Eamon to help defend Ferelden against a Blight."

With a roll of her eyes, Isolde turned back to Teagan. "Teagan, Eamon still lives, as does Connor." Her tone was pleading again. "Whatever thing holds the castle has allowed the three of us to live, but it is terrible inside. Please, you must come with me!" She flicked her gaze between him and Valene, raising her nose higher as she did so. "Alone."

Valene immediately stepped forward. "Teagan, going in alone is incredibly dangerous, and for all we know this is a trap. How are we to know you're telling us the truth, my lady?" The title tacked on at the end of such a blunt accusation made Alistair smile.

Isolde was not so amused. "Such impertinence! I don't care if you are a Warden, I am a mother and a wife and care only for their safety!" Teagan winced audibly. The two women looked as if they were cats sizing each other up for a fight. Alistair didn't even need to guess who would come out the victor.

Valene let out a scornful laugh. "That much is obvious – the entire village could have died last night and you would still care only for one child." Turning away from Isolde, Valene fixed her eyes on Teagan. The act sent a jolt of jealous anger through Alistair. He kept telling himself he shouldn't care, but he did. _And yet I flirted with every village girl that approached me, just in case she was watching. _He wasn't being fair, but he didn't think she'd been fair either. "Teagan, please, this is too dangerous. Don't go with her."

Turmoil rippled across the bann's face as he considered the two positions. When his gaze finally settled on Isolde, Alistair knew his choice. "I will go to the castle with you, Isolde." The Arlessa let out a sigh of relief and nodded.

"Then we must go now, Teagan." Despite the obvious relief there was an edge of wariness in her face that Alistair couldn't quite figure out.

"If you please, I need to talk with the Wardens first." _Now that's a surprise_. Alistair had grown used to people gravitating towards Valene. She had an aura of authority around her, and she was the one who spoke, not to mention the only one holding their little party together. Teagan's inclusion of him was a nice change of pace.

Isolde only nodded. "Yes, but be quick. I will wait for you by the gate." With that the woman turned and started off, only gracing him with a quick, sharp glare before she was past him.

Teagan motioned to Alistair and Valene, and the three of them huddled near the windmill. He pulled a heavy ring off of his hand and held it out to the mage. "This is my family signet ring. Use it to open the entrance to the passageway inside the mill – you can get inside the castle that way. Send word to have Ser Perth and his men wait at the gates. You should be able to let them in once you're inside." As Valene cupped her hand for the ring, Teagan pressed it into her palm and fixed her with a soft look. "Eamon is the priority here. Everyone else is expendable."

Valene shook her head sternly. "No. Eamon could still die. If he does, we'll need you. You'll be Eamon's heir if Connor is really a mage. I'll do my best to get all of you out, I swear it." The idea of Eamon's son as a mage made Alistair's head spin. He couldn't believe it – the thought was so outrageous he didn't think anything less than feeling magic in the boy would convince him otherwise.

The bann smiled and ran a thumb along Valene's hand. "The Maker himself must have sent you in our time of need, for you are as brave as you are beautiful. I must go now." With that he released the mage and began jogging up the path to the castle. Alistair struggled to maintain his composure, despite the urge to gag. _I guess I wasn't needed after all_. Valene's eyes followed the bann a few moments before settling on him. Her cheeks were red and she wore an uneasy look.

"We'll leave as soon as the others get here. Could you wait while I run down to the village to alert Ser Perth?" Despite her encouraging the bann's rather obvious advances, Alistair got the sense she wanted peace between the two of them, and it was making it that much more difficult to stay mad at her. _That and the way she's pouting at me_. Memories of kisses trickled into his head, before he shoved them aside, remembering the words that had stung so deeply. He didn't particularly enjoy being angry, but it made things easier.

He nodded reluctantly. "Sure, I'll just stand here and look pretty then?"

She gave him the slightest of smiles. "I believe pretty is Zev's job. You can stand there and look handsome. I'll hurry."

He blinked a bit at the compliment. She'd told him he was handsome before, but that was when they'd been playing out that awkward dance. _Before she threw everything back in my face_. "Yes, well, don't go too fast. I don't want you breaking your neck."

Laughing lightly, she just nodded. "Right. See you soon." As he watched her disappear down the trail, he shook his head. She made his head spin with emotions until it made him ill if he thought about it too long. Pushing her from his head began recalling the layout of the castle. Teagan had mentioned the passage led to the dungeon, and Alistair closed his eyes, remembering the dark, dank place that had been the perfect for a young boy to pretend he was a famous adventurer searching a dragon's cave for treasure.


	20. Chapter 19

_AN: Sorry for the mix-up Monday. In the course of adding things to Chapter 18, I thought I had moved a section from the end over to Chapter 19, but lost it in the process. I had originally included the interaction with Jowan that is written here. Sorry for the confusion! Updates here on out will stick to the normal schedule, unless otherwise stated. Thanks again for reading, following and commenting. I appreciate you all!_

* * *

"Hello? Is someone there?" Valene froze at the words. The voice was quiet, hoarse, desperate and disturbingly familiar. A slight touch at her elbow distracted her. Zevran had a sinuous dagger in his hand and nodded towards the direction of the voice. She shook her head, forcing herself to move. As the final cell came into view, a mage in dirty, tattered robes with dark, greasy hair met her eyes. His face was pale and gaunt, his eyes dull and staring, as if he were in a stupor. His face scrunched up as he squinted at her, peering through the bars. She licked her lips nervously and felt her hands tremble. "Valene?"

It was Jowan. Hearing him say her name broke through her apprehension, piercing the guilt she thought she'd left behind. Tears stung her eyes as she rushed forward, reaching for him through the bars, desperate for forgiveness, atonement. "Maker, Jowan, how long have you been down here?" Despite her best efforts, she couldn't keep the grief from her voice.

He recoiled instantly, stumbling back towards the far wall, his eyes bright now, filled with a fury that matched the snarl of his mouth. "_You_. Of all the people - _you_ are here." _Eyes glittering with hate, Jowan backed away from her, his hand locked tightly with Lily's. "You betrayed me! I can't believe you – I _trusted_ you." Valene felt her heart sink and lowered her eyes to the blood and glass that littered the floor at her feet. _The shame of her crime came back in waves, twisting her heart.

Blinking back tears, Valene shook her head, trying to push away the memories. "I'm sorry, Jowan, I truly am! I didn't do it to hurt you, I didn't want the Templars hunting you down, killing you..." _She stood against the stone wall just outside the Chantry. The hallway was quiet, and it was one of the few places Templars didn't feel a need to stand guard. Her mind raced, conflicted, hurt. She knew she should tell the First Enchanter, she _knew_ that what Jowan wanted was wrong, but he was a friend. The image of Jowan and Lily being hunted by Templars, of Jowan pleading for his life as he stood without his magic, sprang to her mind. She could see the greatsword swinging through the air, aimed at Jowan because _she_ had helped him escape. Swallowing hard, she turned down the hall. She would tell._ And now he stood before her, not dead at the hand of a Templar, but imprisoned, the attempted-murderer of an Arl, a blood mage, and the supposed cause of the evil that plagued Redcliffe.

A raspy, bitter laugh came from Jowan and he spat on the floor near her feet. "Death would have been merciful compared to this. I've been down her for days with no food, no water, nothing. And before that..." He trailed off and looked away from her. His hands were gripping his robes tightly, knuckles white.

Alistair cleared his throat quietly behind her, before speaking up. "Is this... _the_ Jowan? The one from the Tower? The _blood mage?_"

Nodding slowly, Valene let out a soft sigh. "Yes. This is the friend I betrayed."

That brought Jowan's attention back to her. "Oh, so you're at least admitting it, are you? Awfully big of you, Valene, really. Did you make sure to include the bit where you went all noble and confessed to _me_ when it was too late, hmm?" He was sneering at her, goading her, and it was working.

Trying to hide the way his words were affecting her, Valene straightened a little. "How did this all happen? Why are you here? Lady Isolde mentioned something about you poisoning the Arl."

His grey eyes met hers and this time there was no anger, but shame. "I was caught by Teryn Loghain's men. I was told I could be sent to Aeonar, or I could do a favor for the Teryn and he'd sort things out with the Circle. He told me Lady Isolde wanted a tutor for her son, one that wouldn't tell the Circle about his abilities." He gave her a small half smile. "I really trusted him, thought he would help. He even said he'd see if he could help Lily." The smile faltered and worry furrowed his brow. "Where is Lily? Is she alright? I mean... what happened to her?"

Duncan had hurried her to Ostagar before Lily's fate had been determined. "I don't know. Duncan, the Grey Warden that was at the Tower, recruited me before I found out."

Jowan's face fell and he rubbed a hand through his hair. "My poor Lily... I never meant for her to be hurt in any of this."

Sighing softly, Valene reached out towards Jowan once more. "It was made worse by the blood magic – Greagoir was furious when I was conscripted. He thought I knew about it as well." That earned her a surprised and slightly guilty look. Jowan reached tentatively and took her hand. It was ice cold and his grip was weak. Turning slightly, Valene called over her shoulder to the others. "Do you have any food or water?"

Zevran produced a small skin of water and Morrigan dug some dried bits of meat out from one of her many pockets. She handed them through the bars to Jowan, watching him eat ravenously. It hurt to see him like this. For all the anger and hate he'd poured towards her, he was frail, weak and she could see sores near his mouth that bespoke a long imprisonment with little to eat or drink. When he'd had his fill the skin was passed back through, drained dry. He looked a little better, if slightly ill at gorging himself so suddenly. He took both of her hands this time and his shoulders hunched as if suddenly defeated. He'd never been brave, but now he looked broken. "By Andraste, what did they _do_ to you?"

Jowan's eyes shifted nervously and she could feel him trembling. "When Lady Isolde found out I'd poisoned the Arl she had me thrown down here. They... did things, tortured me until I gave up information. After that I rarely saw them, even for food or water." Fear clouded the other mage's face and Valene felt her distaste for the woman turn towards something more sinister. Jowan wouldn't have required much to confess, but the way he shook at the mere memory told Valene there was more. "I started hearing screams coming from the castle one night, terrible screams and fighting. The next day the Arlessa came down and had me tortured all over again, ordering me to stop the monsters, but I didn't know what she meant at the time. When she realized I had nothing to say, she left me again. I don't really know how long it's been since I last saw someone alive. The few creatures that made it down here couldn't get to me through the bars, and you... killed them."

Cursing softly, Valene tried to clear her head enough to think. There had been too much to handle _before_ stumbling into Jowan, and now she had to face freshly renewed guilt and shame, not to mention growing resentment towards the First Enchanter. Had she known things would end so badly she would've taken Jowan to Greagoir himself that day, Irving's game be damned. Irving had _known_ and done nothing, leaving it up to her. _And I obeyed, good little Circle Mage that I was_. She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been, how she'd let herself be _used _so easily. Jowan and Lily had been used the same way, and now look at the three of them. Lily taken by the Chantry to Maker-knows where, Jowan rotting in a prison cell and her, running around Ferelden as one of the last Grey Wardens in the middle of the Blight. It was a wretched little mess they were in.

"I have a theory. As to what's happening." Snapping out of her reverie, Valene blinked at Jowan. He gave her a questioning look for a moment before continuing. "I think Connor has been possessed by a demon. He couldn't have done this himself – I'd only taught him a few minor spells, and even those were very weak."

Feeling as though her heart had dropped to her knees, Valene let out a slow breath, mulling over the possibility. It would account for the power – a demon with direct access to the Fade as well as the physical world could easily wreak such havoc, and if the boy had not fully understood the danger, if he had been so deeply motivated by an emotion as to draw a demon to him...

Grimacing, she nodded. "I think you may be right. It's the best way to explain-" A clatter from the floor above brought her attention back to the task at hand. They were there to put an end to whatever lay at the heart of the problem.

The sound of metal rasping on leather drew her attention and she turned to see Alistair, sword in hand. She was momentarily alarmed before realizing the man's attention was focused on room that lead away from the dungeon and into the castle.

Jowan's grip tightened on her hand. "Please, let me help. Let me make things right – if that's even possible." She could hear the plea in his voice, and his face looked earnest enough, but he couldn't undo the deaths, and he was no great Healer like Wynne – he would not be able to cure the Arl.

Stifling a laugh of disbelief, Valene couldn't help looking at him incredulously. "What do you propose? Do you intend to help us fight our way into the castle?"

His grey eyes dimmed and his expression faltered. "I... I don't know." He pulled away again, this time dropping into a sitting position, his head hanging as if defeated.

Softening her tone, Valene tried to sound reassuring. "I'm going to leave you here – you _did_ poison the Arl – but I'll see to it that Lady Isolde and Bann Teagan remember you're down here and see that your needs are taken care of once we clear the castle. If we need your help at some point, you'll be sent for." It was hardly anything certain or sure, but it was the best she could offer for now. The bars would at least protect him from attack.

To her surprise, her former peer nodded in resignation. "Alright." He looked at her directly, sadness forming his features. "Valene? Be... be safe."

She let a small smile curve her lips. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He might never forgive her, but if he hated her less, it would ease her own anguish. "You too, Jowan."

Tearing herself away, Valene turned and nodded to Alistair, motioning him to lead on through the castle. Following his footsteps closely, she steeled herself. If there was a demon at the heart of this, if the boy had become a true abomination... Pushing aside the thought, she instead called on a spell, holding it on the edge of casting. Whatever came, she would be ready.

* * *

Morrigan was wary of the possessed child, even though it had fled the room minutes before. She could feel the demon's power, but its hold was not as strong as she had expected. It was as though the demon had spent itself wreaking havoc on the castle and village instead of exerting full power over the child's mind. It was a foolish thing to do, but demons were not known for being particularly clever, just able at manipulating a mage's emotions and power. She was a bit appalled at how sloppily the demon seemed to control the young mind – a mere boy had managed to break through its hold twice! She could see the appeal in manipulating the dead or controlling a more mature mind from afar as the demon had done to the nobleman, but Morrigan didn't think such a position of power warranted so a loose hold on one's primary conduit _to_ that power.

The Orlesian woman's voice broke out again, pleading and high-pitched. "You must save my son!" Morrigan wrinkled her nose and reminded herself to not complain next time Leliana told a story – at least the bard's voice was soft. The Arlessa had proved to be the root of all the problems at the castle, and yet she _still_ demanded to be helped. That soft fool, Alistair, was pleading with Valene to seek assistance from the Tower. From the look on the other woman's face, however, she had absolutely no intention of abandoning the villagers to the mercy of a demon yet again. Valene seemed to have a soft spot for idiots – Alistair was proof of that – but she also wasn't going to save one fool if it killed others. _A practical line of thought, considering her self-imposed morality_. Morrigan would have simply abandoned everyone to their fate, demon or no, but they were too far into things for that.

"I have a way to enter the Fade, but it uses blood magic." The pathetic excuse for a mage they'd found in the dungeons had been retrieved. The mention of blood magic _did_ intrigue Morrigan though, particularly if it facilitated entering the Fade as completely as would be needed to kill the demon. She felt a strange shimmer of power press against her own and realized Alistair was on the verge of releasing something Templar-related. From the dark look on the other warden's face, Valene could feel it too and had planted herself firmly between the wretch from the dungeons and the idiot Templar.

"Don't you _dare_." Valene's voice was a hiss and Morrigan could sense the mage getting ready to cast. The mage and the templar eyed each other as animals would in the wild, and Morrigan found herself idly wondering just how long it would take Valene to overwhelm Alistair. He had used his abilities sparingly over the past few months and unless he had been holding back, he would only be able to weaken the other mage slightly before she had a chance to strike.

The set of the blonde's shoulders spoke of stubbornness. _Typical_. "Why not? Why are you protecting him?" Had the situation been less of a threat to her own immediate ability to use magic, Morrigan would have laughed. The two had been playing between acting cordial and teetering on the edge of violence for the last three days.

"Because he could be the only way to fix this!" Valene's teeth were all but bared and the two nobles were looking frantically between the two Wardens. "Jowan, tell us what you mean and how it would work. Now."

The half-starved wretch nodded frantically. "It usually requires massive amounts of lyrium and several mages, but with blood magic it requires a large quantity of life force." His eyes slid to the side and he seemed to be trying to hunch inside himself. "All of it, actually."

To Valene's credit, the admittance that it would require a life didn't bring more than the slightest look of relief to her features. "Then we _do_ have a choice here. Connor will not have to die."

The strange feel of Templar power emanating from Alistair wavered. "He won't?"

Morrigan couldn't understand all of the uproar over a simple child. Mage or not, the boy had turned into an abomination, however poorly controlled, and even she wasn't particularly content with letting a maleficarum that had been rotting in a prison cast that sort of powerful magic so near her. The noblewoman broke in, her shrill voice paining Morrigan's ears. "If this will save my son, then I will give _my_ life. Please, he is just a child and does not deserve to die!"

It was the first remotely _noble_ thing she'd heard out of the woman. Up to this point everything had been about preserving her husband and son, with thought to little else. Morrigan couldn't say she wouldn't do the same, but she also didn't have a reason to be loyal to the people in the village. The Arlessa should have shown at least some concern, even if it was only to placate the rather upset group of traveler's who were the only reason she had anyone _left_ in her Arling.

Alistair was shaking his head. "No, Isolde. Don't do this." Unable to help herself, Morrigan let out a rather loud sound of disgust. She'd heard how the woman had treated him as a child and couldn't believe he was actually concerned with the Arlessa's life.

The maleficar spoke again. "I'll need someone else to enter the Fade, since I'll be doing the casting. A mage would have to be willing."

A sharp intake of breath behind her announced Wynne's disapproval. The healer had been with the others at the castle gates. Morrigan couldn't stand the woman – she was the epitome of a good little Circle mage, well-behaved, helpful, and always spouting off long, unwanted diatribes about power and honor and duty. She seemed almost as besotted with the Chantry's bloody Maker as Leliana was, which only added to her insufferable air of self-righteousness.

Valene's eyes flitted over the group that followed her, her expression veiled, the earlier defensiveness hidden for now. Her stance was still tense, however, and she was still on the brink of casting something. "Alistair, Wynne, Leliana. I want all of you out of the room. Now."

Morrigan blinked in surprise. She certainly hadn't expected the expulsion of those most likely to interfere, though the move was wise. She could hear Wynne's soft footsteps already retreating towards the castle entrance. There was a disapproving grunt that could only have come from the Orlesian and soon her bootsteps followed the mage's. Alistair remained, defiant.

"You can't be serious." A pause brought no response. "You're _really_ going to trust him? After all he's done?" There was bitterness and jealousy in Alistair's tone. Valene flinched slightly, but didn't stand down.

"Alistair, wait outside in the courtyard." He started to protest again, but she shook her head curtly. "Get out, now. That's an _order_."

The blonde's jaw clicked shut and he stood there for several moments before turning away from Valene. He pushed past Morrigan rudely, bumping into her roughly. Everyone in the room remained silent until the sound of doors closing echoed through the stone room. Valene turned to Isolde. "You will give your life for your son's?"

The woman nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. "Please, this is my fault. He does not deserve to die, and if I can prevent that with the end of my own life, so be it."

"Then ready the ritual, Jowan. We've not much time until the sun sets again." Valene settled her eyes on Morrigan, sending a small chill down her spine. Morrigan nodded once, reassuring the woman who she had grown to trust. Valene had faced the Fade before, and done so in ways Morrigan could only fathom. She knew there would be no question as to whether the other woman would succeed.


	21. Chapter 20

Wincing in pain, Valene raised a hand to her head. She felt as if she'd run into a wall, her entire body one continuous ache that throbbed with every beat of her heart. She was on something soft and the room was dark. Opening her eyes wider, she could see a tall, athletic shape standing by the fire on the far side of the room. As she struggled to push herself into a sitting position, the figure turned. It was Teagan.

He was at her side in moments, helping her sit up, his eyes intent on her face. As she tried to clear her head, he spoke, his voice soft. "My lady, it is so good to see you awake. You had us worried..." The bann lowered himself onto the bed, sitting next to her.

Nodding absently, Valene's memory rushed back in, filling her head with images. Isolde's blood rushing into her, the twisted, sickly yellow landscape of the Fade and the desire demon that lay at the heart of the dream. It had tempted her, whispering promises of love and adoration from _him_. It had been a blow struck deep, that a demon could see her wants so transparently. She had refused through bitter tears and struck it down as it taunted her. The demon was gone now, and the memory of why she had even been there and consented to the ritual returned. "Connor, is he alright?"

Teagan nodded. "Yes, my lady. He doesn't seem to remember much of anything, but the demon is gone. I... do not know what I'll tell him about his mother."

Valene closed her eyes, remembering the look of fear on Isolde's face as Jowan had begun casting. The woman had prayed until her body went rigid, lifting in the air as her life was drained away. "Teagan, it's just Valene. How is the Arl?"

"He still lives, though I do not know how. Wynne is with him now – she sleeps, but remains nearby." He paused awkwardly and she opened her eyes to see him fidgeting. "She wouldn't heal you. Are you feeling alright?"

Sighing softly, Valene flexed her feet, testing her stuff muscles. "A bit sore, but I'm fine. I suppose Morrigan did what was necessary?" The apostate had said nothing to her, but the look in the other mage's eyes when she had announced her decision had given her strength.

"Yes, she healed you before insisting you be put in a bed to rest. The impact of the... ritual cracked a few ribs, from the sound of things. I offered to stay up in case you should need anything." A large hand covered her own, the skin smooth and warm.

"Thank you." Her stomach growled loudly and hunger gnawed at her. "I could do with something to eat..."She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. _A day? Two?_ Lack of food combined with the heavy use of magic was likely the main culprit of her aches and pains, neither of which could be properly healed with magic alone. The only true remedy was food and rest, and the latter would likely have to wait another day.

"I'll send word to wake the cook immediately. It seemed the demon left some of the servants alive." His body tensed as if he was about to get up, but he leaned towards her instead. His hand left hers and moved to her face, fingertips brushing her cheek. "I am glad to see you awake, Valene."

Drawing a quick breath, she focused her eyes on the end of the bed. "Thank you, Teagan, for your concern and for standing watch."

Lips pressed against her temple, lingering over-long for simple affection, and when he spoke, Teagan's voice was low. "For you, it was a privilege." His warm breath tickled her skin, making her shiver slightly.

Her stomach rumbled again before she had time to think of a reply, and for the first time, Valene was grateful for the ravenous Warden appetite. Teagan smiled and stood up. "Forgive me, I will go speak with the cook and be back soon." He bowed once before leaving.

As her eyes searched the room for her proper robes – she seemed to have been dressed in a large men's tunic before being put in bed – her mind raced. She had been stupid, encouraging the bann to push Alistair away, toying with the idea of one man while she fought to quell her emotions for another. It was careless of her, and now her heart was racing because of the way he'd touched her. She hadn't expected that rush, the mixture of panic and desire. Something about his presence heated her blood. It was dangerous, and she was entirely too vulnerable to the bann's charms in her current state. She needed a clearer head.

After a few minutes of searching, she found her robes. While she was still adjusting her skirts the door swung open with a loud bang. She turned, expecting to see Teagan, but found a furious Alistair striding towards her. He was there in moments, towering over her. His chest heaved angrily as he stared at her a few moments. Hoping to find an in, Valene started speaking. "Alistair, I didn't-"

He cut her off with an angry yell. "Didn't what? Didn't care about Isolde? Didn't _think_ about using blood magic? I can't believe you did something so vile – and you sacrificed her to do it!"

Valene hit a wall she didn't remember backing into. Alistair had followed her every move and there was no escaping his wrath. Emotion churned inside her stomach, anger dominating it all. She tried to find words to defend herself against a choice she'd made with no joy, and not a little anguish. "I didn't think? What would you have had me do, Alistair, kill the child when it was his mother's actions that brought all of this about?"

A fist pounded the wall next to her head and she jumped. "Did you even consider going to the Tower?" His face was a snarl above her, the flickering light of the fire only serving to make it more sinister.

Angered by the insult, she pushed at him, barely earning her a grunt, but it made her feel better. Justified. "And leave the entire bloody village to die? It would have taken almost a _month_ to get there and back, traveling at a pace that would leave us half dead at the end of it. Do you really think the demon would have sat around idly while it waited for us to get back? Maybe it would have been a good little demon and sat around having cake and tea while it waited for us to come back and kill it?" His expression showed flickers of uncertainty, but she would not stop. "You have _no_ idea what I had to do in the Fade, the way the demon twisted it to its needs." _Connor gasped in front of her, flickering between the form of a boy and the form of a demon. His breath was tortured, pained and it made her heart twist_. He needed to hear, needed to _learn_ that it was not about what he wanted, or people that mattered only to him, it was about being able to make a decision for others, even if it left a scar on your soul. "Did you want me to let more people die because Isolde was too selfish to do what she should have done the moment she learned Connor could wield magic? I didn't exactly kill an innocent woman." _"I can give you what you want – I can make him ignore his duty this once, ease_ your_ mind enough to keep him off the throne. You could have him to yourself, with no one else able to interfere." _The demon had smiled at her, so knowing, so smug and _certain_ Connor's soul would be worth it. It had tried to manipulate her, tried to convince her that the soul of a boy was nothing against her own desires.

Alistair raised a hand and for a moment she thought he was going to strike her. She almost wished he would, something, _anything_ to make it easier for her to forget that she'd ever wanted him, that she wanted him still. _The demon laughed as it watched her fight against her desires, taking pleasure in the sheer fact there had been a struggle at all._

The blow never came, and instead he slumped, drawing a deep sigh before speaking with gritted teeth. "I hate it when you're right."

Her own words echoed in her head and she realized just how cold the last had sounded, even if it _was_ true. "So do I." The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She'd had to make too many decisions, decide the course of too many lives, in the months since Duncan recruited and she was beginning to wish she'd refused him. _Not as if I could have_. She'd been a different person then, soft and naïve, wrapped up in the desire to serve, to fix the world the way heroes had. _To redeem myself for betraying Jowan even while I atoned for assisting his escape_. There were too many conflicting loyalties, too many things that fell outside the realm of right or wrong, and she began to see the appeal of a cage as prettily gilded as the Tower. Watching first Branka, then Lord Harrowmont and Isolde die before her eyes, all because of choices _she _had made, had cast off the child she was when she left. She was a woman now, but even then, it was duty, above all.

Settling her eyes on Alistair's, she saw uncertainty lingering there. How _he_ had managed to maintain such a rosy view of things, she'd never understand. In the end, that was what had drawn her and what drew her still. He was comfort and warmth and hope amidst the deep pool of ambiguity and _using_ others. He deserved a kinder time and circumstance than what the Blight had thrown his way, but he couldn't see what lay before him. _Still._ His innocence would not serve him well as king, and she swore to herself in that moment that she would see it gone before she put him on the throne. Rebuilding would be hard, and rewarding in its own way, but he needed to learn the lesson she thought she'd taught in Orzammar and her own words rang in her head. _"Reality isn't like the stories. There isn't one person that's entirely good to make everything better. It's harder than that."_ Maker forgive her, but it was harder and entirely too painful against the stories of gallantry and heroism, where there was one good and one evil.

"I'm sorry... for getting angry." His voice was soft. "And for threatening Jowan earlier. For threatening _you_." The admission came as a surprise. She'd expected he'd been as ready to unleash his Templar powers on her as he had Jowan in an attempt to stop the ritual. It was why she'd ordered him to leave. _And to protect him_. She hadn't expected the ritual to be as horrific as it had been, and she was certain he wouldn't have been able to restrain himself long enough for its casting to be completed, had he been in the room.

She was beginning to understand how Duncan had been able to kill Jory so easily. _We do what we must_. "We both made our choices and the cannot be undone. It is over." With that he finally stepped back, allowing her room to breathe freely and move. She moved away from him, walking over to the chair by the fire where she had laid her boots and gloves as soon as she found them. Lacing up one boot, she kept her voice brisk while avoiding his gaze. She needed something else to talk about before the uncertainty over her decision overwhelmed her. "If we've any hope of curing the Arl, it will be the Urn, if it even exists. Ser Perth mentioned something about a brother in Denerim. It will take a few weeks to reach the city, even with the easy travel the main road will provide, so I suggest we get answers from the knight and be on our way by mid day."

The clatter of a platter made her jump. She turned to see a male servant backing away from a plate of cheese, cold meat, bread and a jug of milk what was likely milk. Teagan was in the doorway, eyeing Alistair warily. Barely remembering her manners, Valene managed a mumbled "thank you" before the boy darted away.

Teagan stepped into the room, all graciousness, the uncertainty gone. "I hope this is alright, she said she'd have breakfast ready less than an hour after dawn."

Waving her hand, Valene returned to her boot-lacing, even more intent on them. "That will be perfect, thank you." One boot finished, she pulled on the other one, forcing herself to move slowly. With any luck, the two would leave by the time she finished with it. Facing the bann _and_ Alistair in a small room with one exit was not what she'd call an ideal situation.

"Teagan, do you know anything about the brother Isolde sent your knights to?" Alistair's tone was level.

"His name was Brother Genitivi, a scholar based in Denerim who was interested in the Urn. He'd written Eamon claiming he could find the Urn and managed to convince my brother it was all worthwhile. He'd wanted Eamon's help in funding an expedition before the darkspawn began appearing in the South." A light clatter followed boot steps, and the tray was set in front of her. Inwardly cursing the bann for his courtesy, Valene nodded.

"Thank you. Do you know where to find him in Denerim? I'm not at all familiar with the city, and from what I understand it's very large." Her fingers were fumbling with the laces out of sheer nerves, but she was grateful for the delay.

"There are several letters of correspondence from him in Eamon's study. I'll show you where they're kept and you can look over them as you wish. I'm certain the location of his house is among the information there." She could feel Teagan hovering near her chair and she fought the urge to fidget.

The last bootlace finished, Valene reached a hand towards the platter before pausing. Alistair sat next to her, eyeing the cheese longingly. She turned to Teagan and wore what she hoped was a concerned expression. "Why don't you get a few hours of sleep? You've been up all night. I've got to eat first, and I'm sure Alistair remembers where the study is." Hoping her words would be taken at face value, she smiled.

Teagan's eyes glanced at Alistair. "Of course." He took her hand is his and kissed it just as he had in the Chantry as he settled his eyes on her. The bann looked at her as though Isolde's death didn't change the fact that he wanted her. It was unsettling, to say the least. "I will see you at breakfast." With that, the bann turned and left.

Realizing she was blushing, Valene tried to divert attention to the cheese. She knew Alistair loved it, no matter what the variety, and the softer cheeses just didn't keep on the road. There were at least three different kinds on the platter, and Valene knew just which one he would pick. "Help yourself, there's enough for three people here." _Well, three people if they aren't Grey Wardens_.

Alistair's hand shot out and snatched up a small lump of crumbly white cheese. He began nibbling on it immediately while he stared into the fire. Shrugging to herself, she grabbed a roll and tore into it, relieved she could at least eat without concern as to whether or not she devoured the bread like a ravenous wolf. Genitivi's letters could wait another hour.

* * *

Valene pulled out a thick stack of vellum from a drawer, hoping _this_ one would hold the information she needed. She'd been through three of them already and was starting to feel like an intruder on the life of a man she'd never even met. Correspondence with Cailin, household accounts, letters from Teagan, notes from Isolde... the Arl's life was laid out before her. She hadn't read much, only a sentence or two to gather the content of the letter, but dozens of letters had pieced together a strange picture. It seemed Cailin had been at odds with the Arl before Ostagar, and Orlais had been mentioned more than once. Checking the drawer to see if she'd missed any papers, she began to wish she'd asked Alistair to stay and help. The sky was growing progressively lighter and she'd only been through half of the desk. Withdrawing a thick envelope, the glint of silver caught her eye. Peering into the depths of the drawer, she reached for it, closing her fingers around the cool metal. As she drew the object into the light her breath caught.

Tiny lines ran all over the medallion, and Andraste's sword of mercy lay engraved among the assembled pieces. It had been shattered and painstakingly pieced together, and she knew exactly what it was. It was the one thing he'd told her about his mother, the one memory he'd ever had of her – a locket he'd thrown against a wall once he found he was to be sent to the Chantry. Realizing her hand was trembling, she closed her fingers around the amulet once more. The sound of boots echoing in the hall startled her, and she quickly shoved the trinket in her pocket.

Alistair came into view and she tried to make herself look busy. The first page in the stack was a list of armor repairs needed for the garrison. Flicking it over she looked up at Alistair. "I haven't found what I need yet."

He sighed irritably and rounded the desk, pulling a drawer open. "How much do you have left to go through?"

"All of this stack, the drawer you've got open and the one below it." When his eyes settled on her with an annoyed look she felt embarrassment over her stubborn insistence on working alone. "I guess I do need help, after all."

Withdrawing the papers in the open drawer, Alistair rounded the desk and sat in the chair opposite hers. "Not unless you're trying to work yourself to death, because you seem to be doing a fine job of _that_." There was no bitterness or anger in his tone, only resignation tinged with the slightest glimpse of humor.

Allowing herself a soft laugh, she smiled. "And here I thought no one had noticed." He gave her a brief smile before returning to the significant stack of papers. _Better than nothing_. They remained silent.


	22. Chapter 21

Teagan stood before her, eyes soft, if sad. They were in the Arl's study alone, Alistair gone to see if the smith's daughter had made it was keenly aware of the way she'd shamelessly flirted with him, and it didn't feel right to leave without saying _something_. "Teagan, I wish to apologize for my behavior-"

One of the bann's large, warm hands cupped her face gently, tilting it towards him. "I hardly think you need to apologize for saving the village and Eamon's son."

She shook her head, drawing his hand away with one of her own. "That's not what I meant. I haven't been straightforward with you." This earned her a raised eyebrow and she could have sworn she saw the man smiling ever so slightly, but he said nothing. Trying to wish away the blush she _knew_ was forming in her cheeks, she cleared her throat before continuing. "I've been flirting with you openly, but I'm not exactly, ah... free, to do that."

The bann managed to look only slightly shocked. "Are you married, then?"

Blinking, Valene shook her head stupidly. "No, of course not, I-"

He didn't let her finished. "Do you find me unattractive? Perhaps I'm too old for you and you prefer someone younger." There was the slightest touch of amusement in Teagan's voice.

She wasn't used to being so unhinged. She felt as though her ears were going to be singed right off of her head, and the way he was looking at her – he seemed to be _enjoying_ her obvious discomfort. "Not at all! You're very attractive, and your age has nothing to do with it." _You aren't helping, you bloody fool_. "In fact, _you_ have nothing to do with it." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "I'm in love with someone else." It hurt to say that, to admit it aloud again. The night crept back into her mind. _The moment the words were off his lips, her heart felt as if it had been sundered in two. The only surviving prince of Ferelden stood before her and there she stood, babbling about feelings and _Oh Maker_ she'd been ready to ask him to _be _with her. Shame pierced at her keenly and she tried to quash it with anger, bitterness. _Those_ she could live with, could cling to, those emotions she could use to hurt him, but the degradation she felt would crush her if she let it. She'd never felt so humiliated in her life. She'd been ready to seduce a bloody _prince_, and now she stood before him, feeling small and very, very insignificant._

"Someone at the Tower, perhaps? Or maybe it's someone too daft to realize what they're missing?" Teagan's voice carried the slightest inflection of annoyance.

Biting her lip, Valene shook her head. "No. It's Alistair." She watched the man's face, wondering if he'd ever been told about Alistair's royal blood. Alistair had said no one had known, but there was a chance Teagan might. The Arl had not told his wife, but he may have confided in a brother. _Someone to ease the stress of a secret that could threaten a nation's stability_.

The understanding and sympathy in the bann's eyes told her he knew. She didn't want pity, she wanted to be free of Alistair, to have the Blight over and defeated so she could hide away somewhere until she convinced herself she no longer held feelings of love. Teagan squeezed her hand gently, moving closer as if to embrace her. "Did he... I mean, does he know how you feel?"

"Yes." She didn't want to elaborate and silently pleaded for the bann to leave her answer at that. Several moments of silence gave her hope, and she was almost ready to move away when he spoke again.

"And he doesn't return the affection?" Teagan's voice was no longer the smooth, easy tone she had grown used to. There was a roughness, an anger, she hadn't expected out of him. "Or does he consider himself too good-"

Pressing fingers against the bann's lips, Valene could barely form a silent "no." She almost wished it _had_ happened that way. It took a full minute to compose herself enough to respond. "No, I didn't find out until a few nights ago." At the use of "night" Teagan looked at her questioningly, but she ignored it. "I didn't take it well. I had thought-" Something inside her wrenched. _I thought I had found someone to spend my life with, someone who loved me and would marry me even though I was a mage, without a second thought to what the Chantry said_. "I had been under the impression the relationship would be lasting." She tried to pull her emotions away, distance herself from the pain that night had caused. "But Alistair is the rightful heir to the throne and I'm afraid your rather liberal views on mages and marriage are not shared when it comes to Ferelden's future king." Her throat burned with each word, and she could feel her eyes growing wet, betraying her anguish to Teagan.

His soft lips pressed against her forehead and he _did_ embrace her now, holding her close. At first she remained passive, but his arms were too supportive and warm for her to resist. Throwing her arms around him, she buried her face against his chest and tried not to cry, but the tears pushed through, more and more of them falling as she shook. A hand was stroking her hair and soft words were whispered in her ear, reassuring her, calming her. She hated being so obviously weak, but the past two days had as much to drain her energy and hope as the Dead Trenches had done in the Deep Roads. Then, she had leaned on Alistair. Now she had withdrawn from him, it was Teagan.

She didn't know how long they stood there, her softly sobbing while he gently reassured her, but when she finally felt her eyes being to dry, she pulled away with some reluctance. Taking a handkerchief from her robes, she blotted at her face, once again blushing, but this time it was out of embarrassment. She hadn't ever intended to intrude on Teagan to such an extent as to find herself blubbering all over him.

Teagan still stood close and he leaned towards her, speaking quietly. "Perhaps you should stay the night. All of you could use the rest, and you won't get more than a few hours travel before it begins to grow dark."

The offer was tempting, particularly the promise of a soft place to sleep, but she shook her head. The last thing the few remaining servants needed was the presence of guests to add to the sheer number of things that required cleaning or repairs around the castle. The servants needed no more work and _she_ needed to get away from Redcliffe altogether. The bann clouded her head more than she cared to admit, and she needed a clear mind. "We have much to do – we still have not called on the elves to ally with us, and the trip to Denerim will take considerable time. I don't want to delay any more than is necessary."

He nodded and let out a soft sigh. "I understand. Though... when you return, if things have changed to make you more amicable to certain offers, would you at least take that into consideration?"

She could feel her hands trembling and she clutched at her the skirt of her robes in an effort to still them. "I can't promise much, but I won't dismiss you out of hand should things change." She was certainly hoping her feelings for Alistair would be gone by the time they returned from traveling to Denerim and wherever the Ashes might be hidden. _And after the Blight is done_. Too much lay ahead for her to consider what might happen after the Blight, if two Grey Wardens and a country torn by civil war were even _capable_ of killing the Archdemon.

Teagan gave her one chaste kiss on the lips before pulling away and bowing formally. She returned the gesture with an awkward curtsey, hoping she didn't look _too_ ridiculous. "My lady, if I have your leave?"

She nodded once and he left the room immediately. She waited until the sound of his boot steps had faded away before leaving herself. She made her way to the courtyard – she needed warmth and light, room to breathe. The castle was rather short on the first two, and while the latter might have been possible, the early morning sun was a much more appealing option, even if the courtyard _was_ still scattered with corpses.

*******

Zevran slipped out of his room quietly. All of them had been assigned rooms, though none had gone to sleep until Morrigan had reassured them Valene had been successful and had come out alive, if still unconscious. All the same, he hadn't gotten much rest. The morning sun had shone straight into his bedroom window and onto his face, refusing to let him sleep. He'd at least gotten a chance to clean off the grime and blood of the night before, so waking up clean had been a nice change. A servant had stopped by to tell him breakfast was in the great hall and he was on his way there now.

As he reached the bottom of the stairway, the sound of footsteps caught his ears and he stopped, slipping into the shadows. It was Valene. She passed Zevran quickly, her eyes focused straight ahead, her face slightly puffy, as though she had been crying. Curiosity piqued, he followed her quietly for several steps before catching up. "And what has you so upset, my dear Warden?"

She froze at the sound of his voice, keeping her face hidden from him. "I'm fine."

Zevran walked around her and planted himself directly in her path. "But you do not look fine." In addition to evidence of tears, the woman looked exhausted, almost haggard. Her skin was dull, her eyes red, and there were dark, deep circles beneath her eyes. It definitely was not one of her prettier looks. The Warden frowned and let out a sigh, but said nothing. "Ah, you are not in the mood for confession today. Then, unless I am a truly unbearable presence, may I walk with you while you continue to be 'fine?'"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, a friend may do me some good." Zev suppressed a flinch at being called a "friend" as though it were the only way she saw him. He had hoped he'd done a better job of letting her know his intentions. Still, a friend was a good thing to have, and given her current situation with Alistair he couldn't blame her. She'd been flirting with the bann as well, seemingly unaware that Teagan was playing a more serious game than she. The Fereldens were too hung up on privacy and emotions and not nearly as open to simple pleasure as those in his beloved Antiva. It was a shame really. It would have done much of the country good to get more enjoyment out of each other. Valene _was_ right about one thing: a friend _would _do her some good, and the least he could do is fulfill that need. She'd spared his life _and_ shown him trust, two things he would not have done had their places been exchanged. Leliana, on the other hand, had related some very interesting stories of her time as a bard. His attempts at finding a bed partner may prove more... fertile if they were directed at her. _A friend on one hand, a lover on the other, and both of them beautiful women_. It would not be a bad thing at all. Smiling to himself, Zev began entertaining thoughts about rather _specific_ skills a bard of Lelian's talent must possess.

******

Leliana eyed the mage Warden warily. She knew the woman's choice, knew that blood magic had been involved, but the decision still shocked her. She had not suspected her willing to dabble with such evil. Leliana had not wanted the boy killed, but blood magic! She had watched the price of the boy's life laid out in a small boat and set alight. Leliana had prayed for the souls of those who had died, hoping the Maker would hear her. It had been two days since they had left Redcliffe and nothing had been said of the choice made, the sins committed, and an uneasy silence hung over the party. She wished to say something, but all she could remember was the look of relief on Lady Isolde's face when she had offered her own life. It was the only thing that held her back from reminding the mage of her duty to the Chantry and the Maker, of the responsibility that had been placed on her as a Grey Warden. It was nearly enough to force Leliana to leave, but any time she considered it, memories of her vision brought her back to why she had come in the first place. _Perhaps the Maker wishes me to help _her. If the Maker had intended her to save the Warden's soul, then she would do her utmost.

*******

Alistair stared into the campfire, watching the orange flames lick at the night air, sending tiny sparks into the air. He was still trying to come to terms with Isolde's death, even though he now realized it hadn't been the absolute evil he'd originally thought. The demon was gone, Connor lived and Redcliffe was safe. The hardest part was convincing himself that, had the Tower been closer, Valene would have at least considered the option. He'd been surprised she'd advised Teagan to re-imprison the blood mage, particularly after his... help in the whole affair. The maleficar had taken the news surprisingly well and hadn't protested once. It was strange to see, particularly due to his Templar training. He still felt sheepish about nearly unleashing on Valene and Jowan when there was no real danger, only willing participants. _Even if it didn't feel that way at the time._

"Alistair? You have a minute?" Valene's voice startled him and he nearly fell off the stump he'd been sitting on.

"What? Uh, right, yes." She raised an eyebrow at him and slowly sat down on a log.

"You're certain?" He nodded, unwilling to trust himself to speak. The anger that had stemmed from the night she'd walked away had dimmed over the past two weeks, and he found himself watching her when he lost concentration. He wasn't sure what he wanted from her, but he'd had thoughts and feelings that hadn't been there before. Desire was the most difficult to ignore, particularly when he let his imagination run away with it. Before, things between them had been simple, sweet and innocent, but now he was constantly cursing himself for letting his eyes linger too long, for imagining being alone with her, touching her...

"I found something I think belongs to you." Valene's voice was uncertain, and when he looked at her face he saw apprehension to match. "At Redcliffe, I mean." She dug into her pocket and withdrew her hand, her fist closed tightly. She held her hand out towards him.

"What do you mean?" When she said nothing, he sighed and put his own hand out, palm up. Valene pressed something small and cool into his hand, and when she withdrew, Alistair felt his heart stop. The sword of mercy on the front was the same that had been on his mother's amulet. Drawing it close to his face he peered at it, gasping when he saw the tiny cracks running over the pendant. He turned it over in his hands to see a small rune on the back.

"I had Sandal enchant it, for you. That rune will make it more resistant to breaking. It's not invincible, but..." Valene trailed off and he tore his eyes off the amulet to look at her.

"Where did you find this?" He remembered the way the amulet had shattered against the wall, tiny slivers flying everywhere. He'd stomped away from Eamon after that, crying angry tears at the unfairness of the world. Living with Isolde had been bad enough, but being sent to the Chantry had torn at his young heart deeply. She knew this, and had given him nothing but comfort and sympathy after he told her. He couldn't believe the amulet was in one piece and that _she_ had managed to find it.

"It was in Arl Eamon's desk. I found it when I was going through the papers to see if I could find anything on Genitivi. I wanted to do something to strengthen it before I gave it to you. It was so fragile." Alistair felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her in gratitude and began leaning forward before he remembered – he couldn't do that anymore, not with the way his damned royal blood was separating them.

He contented himself with a hand on hers. "He must have put it together... I can't believe you found it, or that you even remembered me telling you." He returned his eyes to the tiny amulet and couldn't help smiling. "Thank you."

"Of course I remembered." He heard her take a deep breath and glanced at her quickly. "Why wouldn't I?"

Clearing his throat, Alistair realized his words may not have been the most complimentary. "Well, most people just sort of... zone out when I talk to them. Maker, I've had a _mabari_ not listen to me for more than a few seconds."

She laughed lightly and shook her head. "I'm no mabari. I knew the moment I saw the cracks that it was the one you spoke of. It would have taken a steady, patient hand to piece that together."

Nodding absently, Alistair continued to stare, tracing each line with his eyes. The pattern of cracks was so intricate that he could only begin to imagine how long it must have taken to put together. _And the Arl did it for me_. Even though he wasn't the Arl's son, even though the Arl had no reason other than an old friend to even care for him, Eamon had literally mended the mistakes of an angry young boy who had been unable to understand his actions. _And she's the one that gave it back._ "It must have taken him ages."

After minutes of silent study, Alistair looked back to the mage. She was staring into the fire, just as he had been earlier. She wasn't yet aware he was watching and for the first time he noticed the sadness in her face. Lingering jealousy over her flirtations with the bann melted and he cursed himself for taking so long to tell her. They'd hurt each other, in their own way, and now both of them were going through the days as if nothing had happened, the only noticeable change an odd tension to their once easy method of travel. Whether her reasons lay in sticking with sound tactics or simple stubbornness, their travelling formation hadn't altered since they'd added Oghren to the party. She went first, Alistair next, with the other mages and Leliana in the center. Zevran, Sten and Oghren brought up the rear, in an easy position to protect them from flank attacks or form a defensive circle with those most vulnerable in the center. It was just as before, but now he was just another companion.

The firelight flicked over her features and Alistair smiled to himself. _Maker, she's beautiful, even when she doesn't smile_. It wasn't just that which drove his thoughts back to her, though; it was who she was, even with the way she'd changed since the Tower. She'd gradually grown more reserved in her expressions of emotion, but she had stayed open with him. _And you didn't return the favor_. Sighing softly, Alistair shook his head. He'd thrown it away because he hadn't thought enough to consider any change to his status as a secret bastard. What he wouldn't give for a normal parentage, a normal upbringing. His half-sister was the chance of some sort of family and he intended to look for her once they reached the city. She and Brother Genitivi both seemed to live near the central market in Denerim, assuming the address he had for Goldanna was still correct.

"Something on your mind?" Alistair hadn't expected her attention any time soon and blinked in surprise.

_Should I tell her?_ He wasn't entirely certain he was up to asking her for favors, but it might be easier to let her know his intentions beforehand. _No more surprises_. "Yes, actually. I know we haven't talked about what happened in the Fade at the Tower, but... I _do_ have a half-sister and her name _is_ Goldanna. She lives in Denerim and, well, I was hoping to meet her. Warn her about the Blight, if nothing else." He still wondered if this was the right thing to do, but the last thing he wanted was the deaths of nieces and nephews on his hands because he had failed to act.

"I'm sure we'll have time for that." She wore a smile and he couldn't help returning the gesture. The notion of "we" made him feel hopeful. The thought of meeting his sister filled him with anticipation, but he was nervous too. What if she thought he was crazy? What is she didn't believe him? He realized now that going alone had been a terrible idea, and was grateful he didn't have to ask Valene to be there.

"Thank you, Valene. For everything." He meant it, too. _Alright, maybe not the bit with Teagan and Isolde. Or losing you to something I can't change._ Still, she had survived and taken the lead, making the difficult decisions that he couldn't imagine undertaking. She'd pulled him from his own despair after Ostagar and those few months with her had let him continue on when it had been hardest. He only wished they'd had more.

This time her smile reached her eyes. "You're welcome." It was enough.


	23. Chapter 22

_A/N: Thank you, as always, for reading, following, subscribing commenting and everything else! I appreciate the time you take to view my story._

* * *

"Alistair, are you alright?" Valene eyed her fellow Warden warily, worried that Goldanna's words would bring out the worst in him. He looked shocked, as if he couldn't quite understand what had happened. He turned to her, looking at her in confusion.

"I... I don't know. I expected things to be so different. Isn't family just supposed to accept you?" Valene cringed as memories of her own parents seeped into her thoughts. They'd been horrified once they'd realized she was capable of magic. She had been six, and had turned a glass of water to ice on a hot day, unaware of the implications it would have on her life. They'd shut her in a small closet, giving her food and water twice a day, along with a chance to relieve herself before the sun came up and after it went down. Her siblings had been barred from communicating with her in any form, and the fact that none of them had even tried had broken her heart more than anything. It had taken them two weeks to make arrangements for the journey to the Tower, and by that time her eyes were so used to the darkness that the light had been blinding. She'd cried, too young to understand what had happened, but they had dragged her along, hands bound tightly, during the entire ten days it had taken to reach the Tower. She remembered her mother crying, and Valene's young heart had hoped it had been out of grief for the loss of their daughter, but her father's words had crushed that hope. _"It's alright, Nara, that _thing_ won't endanger us or our children any longer."_ The words had given her nightmares for weeks, but she had finally calmed down as her training began to hone her mind. The exercises had brought her peace and she quickly learned it was not blood, but caring and love, which forged the bonds between people. Even then, she hadn't learned that people could be taken away or they could die, and it was only one's self that was reliable. It had taken Rolan to teach that.

Shaking her head curtly, Valene kept the grief from her face, focusing on the anger she had felt when Goldanna had demanded money. "No, it's not. People are out for themselves." _People have an agenda_. "You'd do well to learn that."

Alistair blinked several times before he overcame his surprise enough to speak. "I suppose you're right." He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head with a heavy sigh. "Oh, I don't want to talk about this anymore, let's go."

Valene was tempted to push the issue, but refrained. If nothing else, another task would keep his mind off of his shrew of a sister. "Then let's go to the assigned meeting point, Zev and Leliana should be there." She'd left the rest outside the city. A golem and a qunari might draw unwanted attention, so they had never even been considered to tag along. Oghren was as likely to get arrested for destroying something or someone when drunk and Morrigan was an apostate. Wynne had wanted to come wander the city, but Valene worried about her running into familiar faces. She had no idea who might know the senior enchanter had taken up with the Grey Wardens. Even she and Alistair had done their best to remain inconspicuous. Her mage's staff had been left behind, and she was equipped with a pair of daggers. She'd only had a few nights of training from Leliana and Zevran, both of them looking worried, while she'd just been relieved she hadn't managed to stab herself. Alistair had left his plate armor at the camp and was wearing a set of shabby chainmail they'd found at an abandoned wagon alongside the road. They had seen descriptions circulating of them, detailed and recent enough to cause concern. It had described everything down to the color of her new robes and the shape and material of Alistair's shield. That had been a worry until Oghren dug out a parcel he'd been paying Bodhan to cart around. It was Branka's old shield, round and dented, but it would do. The two of them looked like poorly-armed travelers of the sort that might be trying to find a place in the Teryn's army.

As they walked into the small back-alley to wait, Zevran's Antivan lilt startled both of them. "Tsk, tsk, my Wardens, you are very unobservant." Leliana slid from the shadows as well, making Valene and Alistair share a concerned glance. The bard laughed in delight.

"Oh, you should see your faces!" Leliana's eyes were bright with amusement. "Really, though, Zevran is right. You are not as aware of your surroundings as you should be." The red-head eyed the wall that loomed overhead. "Particularly now we're in Denerim."

Sighing, Valene nodded. "I'll try, though I don't plan on splitting up again. Have you found anything interesting?" Leliana nodded while Zevran pulled a paper from his shirt. As he smoothed it out, the words "Grey Wardens" caught her eye. "What's this?" Reading through it, it seemed as though someone was rallying Grey Warden supporters, but it was too obvious, too... convenient.

The Antivan raised his eyebrows as if exhasperated. "It is a note that was on a rather prominent section of the wall here in the market place. Either Loghain is allowing open dissent or this is a trap to find and imprison those who would support the Wardens over the Teryn."

"Well, given the two choices, I think it's rather obvious. He's inviting Grey Warden supporters to supper!" Alistair sounded disgusted with the whole affair. Valene wondered how many people were in dungeons simply because they'd supported her order. It was an unpleasant thought.

Zevran folded the paper carefully and tucked it back into his shirt. "It mentioned something about a 'hidden pearl.' I am sadly unfamiliar with Denerim – I was here only a day when I met with Loghain. He was rather... eager to ensure I was out of the city before anyone could ask me questions."

A glance at Alistair showed the other Warden to be blushing more severely than she'd ever seen him. "Alistair? You're all red, what's wrong?"

He gave her a small shrug and something that halfway between a grimace and a grin. "Oh, I think I know what pearl they're talking about." The warrior looked to the two rogues and turned a deeper shade of crimson. "The Pearl is, it's, a, uh... well, it's a brothel."

Zevran laughed loudly. "Aha! A hidden pearl indeed. And how would a Templar know of such things, hmm?" Alistair looked as if he were about to melt into his boots out of pure shame.

Trying to keep her face from showing any amusement, Valene barely managed to speak without laughing. "Let's talk with Brother Genitivi before we stir up any trouble, but this is something we should take care of, for the sake of our supporters, if nothing else." A smile twitched her lips as she saw how hard Alistair was working to avoid her gaze. They'd settled into a companionship that was friendly enough, but there was something bubbling away beneath the surface. Most of the time she was successful in keeping the urges tucked away neatly, but occasionally he'd do something that would release it and she'd fight the urge to drag him off to her tent. They were small actions – he'd bend over in front of her in camp, allowing her a rather lovely view of him in his breeches, or the two times she'd thought to sneak off to a stream alone, only to find him naked and barely waist deep. Thinking of the last still made her mouth go dry. It was a strange feeling, something entirely new – she'd never felt so desperate to be touched in her life – and it grew worse each time it happened. It seemed the part of her that still loved him was none to content to die away, and was fighting her every chance it got. Trying to remind herself that he was, or would be, a king, she cleared her throat, hoping she hadn't blushed at the memories.

Zevran's knowing grin told her otherwise and he chuckled. "Ah, it appears _both_ of our Wardens turn pink at the thought of the Pearl." The words rolled off the Antivan's tongue like honey, sweet and thick.

"We're not going to have time for you to enjoy yourself, while you're there, so you can stop grinning." Zev raised his hands as though he were completely innocent of the thought. "Did you find Genitivi's house?"

Leliana answered this time. "Yes, it's on the far side of the market, near the Gnawed Noble Tavern, just where you said it would be." The bard had been almost ecstatic when Valene had confirmed their goal was finding Andraste's ashes to cure the Arl. Leliana had hugged her tight and whispered something about the Maker before walking off with a smile. Wynne had looked pleased as well, the news earning Valene the first smile from the other mage since Redcliffe. The only thing keeping Valene believing the wild quest had a chance of success was the Arl's substantial investments in the brother's research. Gold said more than words, and Eamon's gold had flowed freely.

* * *

Zevran watched as the two Wardens interrogated the apprentice. Well, Valene was doing most of the talking and Alistair was slowly sharpening his blade as he sat on the edge of the table. Leliana was stationed outside for advance warning of any trouble and Zev was watching from a corner of the room. The young man called himself Weylon and claimed to be Genitivit's apprentice, but Zevran was suspicious. Simple fear or nerves would have been appropriate emotions for Weylon to have, but with each question he became increasingly annoyed and angry. Sliding along the wall slowly, Zevran made his way to the back of the room. There were a few shelves with books and papers that may be more helpful than the simple direction to go to Lake Calenhad. Halfway to the end of the room the sickly-sweet smell of putrid flesh hit him. Moving as quickly as he dared, Zevran reached the door, the smell growing stronger with each step. Eyeing the apprentice, Zev realized he could get away with opening the door if he tried, but there was no fun in that at all.

Sneaking up behind the man, Zevran carefully slid a dagger from its leather sheath, making the movement dramatic enough for Valene to catch the movement. One of Valene's fingers tapped her leg twice and Zevran smiled. He'd insisted on having a simple sign, and the two taps meant he was open to harming, but not killing, the unsuspecting man. In one smooth motion, Zevran placed a hand under the man's chin, pressing himself against the human as his dagger nestled against the man's throat. "It is a terrible thing when people lie, isn't it, my dear Wardens?"

Alistair had not been watching carefully and jumped at the sudden movement before tucking his whetstone away. The long sword was in his right hand now, and the blonde's eyes rested on the mock-apprentice. Valene's expression was neutral. "I have to agree, Zev. I assume you found something of interest?"

Zevran smiled and tightened his grip on the man's chin until he drew out a whimper. "Unless I'm mistaken, there's something – or _someone_ – rotting in the back room." Moving the dagger just enough to draw a bit of blood, Zevran urged the man to move his feet. "Come now, 'Weylon,' show us what's back there."

The man – whoever he was – stumbled black slowly, only giving as much as was necessary against the incessant kiss of the dagger, and by the time they reached the door, Zevran's hand was slick with blood. "I have a key, I'll need to use it." The man's voice was hoarse. _Of course, you do_. He would not mind killing this one at all, even if it would lack his usual artistry.

Zevran pressed his lips to the man's ear and whispered softly. "If you try to do anything else, I'll be certain your death is very painful." He felt the human's skin prickle and Zevran laughed softly. He'd behave for at least a few moments.

Slowly removing the dagger from the man's throat, Zev slid his hand away reluctantly, letting his fingers run along bared skin. He'd found touches that would normally belong in a seduction became terrifying when one's life was at stake. It was an entertaining game, and one he never tired of. His touch drew a shiver out of the man and Zevran grinned.

Watching intently as the man reached into his pocket, Zev remained ready to strike at any moment. He could see sweat forming on the man's face as he withdrew the key, and his hand shook so badly it took several tries for him to connect key and lock. Turning it slowly, a loud click announced the door was open. The man's eyes drifted to Zevran, waiting for _his_ instructions. He gave a quick nod in the direction of the door and the man almost jumped to turn the knob.

As the door swung open, the stench intensified until it burned his eyes. Valene let out a cough and Alistair made a choking sound. The man whirled then, drawing a hidden dagger from the folds of his clothes. He raised it and lunged towards Zevran. In one smooth motion, Zev grabbed the wrist of his attacker and twisted it just so, while his own dagger slid into the man's belly. Their bodies closed the distance in the action, pressing together at chest and hip and knee. The man let out a gasp of surprise, looking past Zevran in shock. The assassin spun away slowly, the steps the same as a court dance in Antiva, and the man dropped to his knees, clutching at the wound. The spin had opened it wider, and nothing short of a mage's healing would save the man's life. Crouching down, Zevran shook a blood-slicked finger at the man. "I told you, did I not? You should have listened." Shaking his head, Zevran smiled. "Such a shame."

"You two drag him to the corner over there. I'm going to see what's making that awful stench." Valene's voice was muffled from the hand that covered her face, but she stepped over the prone human without even a glance. Complying with her orders, Zevran couldn't help but enjoy Alistair's rough treatment of the man. Forgoing dragging, the two had given him a short toss that made the man cry out in pain. He'd begun praying after that, begging Andraste for vengeance.

A sudden flare of heat and orange light had Zevran springing into the spare room, worrying Valene had sprung a trap. There was no trap, however, and fire streamed from her hands, their target the half-rotted body on the floor. He watched until nothing was left of the man except ashes. Zevran was still amazed at the way a mage's fire could incinerate its intended target, yet not singe an eyebrow or plank if the caster did not wish it so. The larger spells seemed to be more dangerous, but it was still a source of fascination. The wood floor was unscathed by the fire, the only remaining evidence a deep red stain. Valene turned and stopped when she met Zevran's eyes. "I think _this_ was the real Weylon. I found a document on him that contains a map to a village that's even farther west than Honnleath, something called Haven. There was a letter from Genitivi as well, stating he was only a week's travel from the village." As she spoke she walked towards him, two stained piece of paper in his hands.

Zevran plucked the parchment from her hands and studied them. The writing on both pages was identical, but that meant nothing. "I can check other papers in the house to see if the handwriting matches. I doubt there would be a false trail on the dead apprentice, but one never knows how many precautions will be taken." She raised her eyebrows. "It seems whoever is in Haven does not want anyone coming in."

She nodded in response, motioning for him to move. A few steps brought them to the injured man, who was breathing heavily. Zevran realized he may have nicked the man's diaphragm enough to cause intense pain when he breathed, but not enough for a quick death. _I did make my promise_. Valene crouched in front of the man, but kept well out of arm's reach. The man bared his teeth at her and spat in her face.

Coolly wiping the spittle off, she cleaned her fingers on the man's clothes. "Who are you? Why did you kill Weylon?"

The man let out a pained laugh. "I am a blessed disciple of Andraste, and I have seen Her in Her glory. You are nothing but Chantry-blinded fools!" Grimacing in pain after the triumphant shout, the man's eyes glittered with disgust. "Andraste is protected, and only Her chosen few will be risen to the Maker's holy sight. I will tell you nothing that will threaten Her glory!"

Valene frowned thoughtfully for a few moments before standing once more. "I doubt we'll get anything more out of him." Alistair nodded, weapon still at the ready should the man attempting anything. It was unlikely in his state, but Zevran knew that madness and zealotry could compel people beyond normal human limits. "Well, what do we do now?"

The mage looked coolly between the former Templar and the assassin that had once been intent on killing her. Alistair was the first to speak. "I hate killing someone in cold blood, but from the looks of things, he'll die anyways." Valene nodded once and settled her eyes on Zevran.

The man had reverted to pained whispers pleading with Andraste and the Maker. "I'd normally leave him as he is, but he may raise a fuss. Slitting his throat would be... messy." Zev looked down at his blood-stained hands. "Perhaps a cleaner solution would suffice?"

The brunette raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

Smiling, Zevran settled his gaze on the man's face. Terror was beginning to wear through the bravado. "I think you'll like my plan _very_ well." Keeping his tone level, Zevran began to describe a popular ways the Crows used to send a message. With each word Zevran spoke, the man's face grew paler until he finally started pleading for his life. Ignoring the man's begging, Zev's smooth voice never varied, never wavered, and by the time he was done even Alistair looked slightly ill.

Valene shook her head with a soft sigh. "You do have a flair for the dramatic, Zev. Do what you need, but you have five minutes to finish with him. After that, do anything you can to confirm Haven is where we need to go – and I'll need your hands clean. The last thing I want is some idiot guardsman stopping us because your hands are too red. We'll be waiting in the tavern across the street." Motioning to her fellow Warden, Valene began a brisk walk towards the door. "Let's go."

Alistair did not argue and when the door shut behind them, the man let out a wail. Zevran smiled. If the man had been mentally prepared against what he planned, such a short time would not have produced the desired result. For this one, however five minutes would be more than enough.


	24. Chapter 23

"Isabella, you wound me. Surely you are happy to have that wonder of a ship in place of your rather... staid husband, yes?" Zevran and the woman were exchanging looks that were all too knowing.

The woman smiled and let out a soft laugh. "Well, Zev, now that you mention it, he was a greasy bastard, wasn't he?" Isabella hugged him tightly before turning her attention to the three accompanying the Antivan. "And please, do tell me who you have with you."

"The lovely redhead is Leliana, the sweet brunette is Valene, and the strapping blonde is Alistair. The last two are Grey Wardens." Valene was unused to being designated by hair color, but given her similar armor and equipment to Leliana, she couldn't really blame Zevran. Alistair seemed to be even less amused.

Isabella's eyes settled on her own. They were knowing and full of interest. "Ah, Wardens, is it? I think I know why you're here." The woman's eyes flicked to Alistair and an approving smile curved her lips. "Not that I'm complaining."

"And Zevran, this is one of your old friends?" Valene raised an eyebrow at the assassin, but he only smiled and nodded.

"Of course! This is Isabella, Queen of the Eastern Seas, Captain of the _Siren's Call_ and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn." Grinning wickedly, Zev's eyes wandered up and down the woman's body. "And if I may say, more beautiful than I remember."

Isabella laughed lightly. "Haven't lost that particular skill, have you, Zev?"

Valene broke in before the two forgot about the rest of them again. "You _are_ very quick with a blade, I'm impressed. The three of them didn't have a chance." The men harassing Isabella had left covered in small cuts that would heal within a week, but they each bore one deep enough to leave a scar. The woman had been a blur of activity and Valene envied her skill. She felt exposed without her staff and robes – she could still cast, but her spells were less powerful and drained her significantly. She had to be more careful than before and had even secreted a few lyrium potions about her in case a fight saw her overly taxed.

The woman eyed Valene's daggers. "Yes, I use speed instead of strength and it has yet to fail me. I call myself a duelist, and normally I would be open to teaching one equipped the way you are, but I can see you're not quite at ease with either one of those pretty little blades, are you?"

_Maker, is it that obvious?_ She'd been worried she'd have to use them at one point or another, and the shift in weight had thrown off her usual comfortable stance that compensated for her staff. "I'm afraid I'm not, but it's a bit easier to look the part of a rogue and keep away from watchful eyes than it is in mage's robes."

It was Isabella's turned to be surprised. "Oh, a Grey Warden _and_ a mage? You get more interesting by the moment, my dear." The duelist was looking at her and Alistair as though they were new types of food she wanted to try out of sheer curiosity. "Though really, either one of you Wardens would be... useful in letting me test out the myth of your supposedly legendary endurance. Or does Zev already know the answer?"

Alistair made a choking sound and Valene felt her cheeks flush. Leliana was chuckling softly to herself behind her back, making the situation that much more mortifying. The one thing Valene had _not_ expected was the discomfort on Zevran's face. "I am afraid I cannot answer either way on that, Isabella."

"You really expect me to believe you haven't tripped any of them into your bed the entire time you've been travelling with them?" Valene blinked at the question, turning her gaze to the Antivan. He gave her a guilty smile before glancing at Leliana. At Zevran's shrug, Isabella laughed heartily.

Trying to will the heat in her face away, Valene cleared her throat. "I believe we came here to do something other than discuss our various bedtime habits?" It was a rather stupid-sounding when she remembered they were in a brothel, but no matter. Alistair shot her a grateful look and she smiled a little. It was good to know at least _one_ other person looked as mortified as she felt.

Zevran took Isabella's hand in his and kissed it. "I'm afraid the Warden is correct, my dear. I deeply regret we do not have time to renew our friendship. We have other business to attend to and Valene told me ahead of time I wouldn't be allowed any fun."

"And with good reason, it would seem. Isabella, it was lovely to meet you. Stay safe – there _is_ a Blight, whatever lies Loghain might be trying to spread." The duelist nodded gratefully before returning to her table. Zevran shot Valene a disappointed look, but she just shook her head. "No, Zev. We've got to tramp across all of Ferelden _again_, so we need to get this over with."

******

Alistair eyed the four in the room, noting each of them in turn. The two qunari had to be mercenaries, but the elf and the human acted as though they were personally invested in the matter. The man seemed rather pleased with himself, but the elf woman wasn't quite so absorbed in her own cleverness that she didn't realize who they were. "Paedan, you idiot, these _are_ Grey Wardens, not just supporters. Don't you recognize them from the description?"

Paedan squinted at them and turned his head before grunting. "Oh yeah... I can really see it with him, but she don't look nothing like the description says. I thought you said she was a mage, Shevra!"

Rolling her eyes, Shevra let out an exasperated sigh. "And she was obviously clever enough to disguise that. But _he's_ a dead giveaway." The elf's eyes settled on him and Alistair cursed himself for not wearing a helm. He thought it would look suspicious, since few people went about with their faces hidden, but a leather cap would have at least hidden his hair. "I think you'll need to take a walk with us to Arl Howe's estate. He's been so looking forward to meeting you." Shevra's tone was cool, but he could see her hands flexing and she'd dropped her stance ever so slightly. Alistair instantly recognized the movements – she was preparing for combat. Paedan was still relaxed, though, and Alistair didn't think either of them had noticed Zevran. The assassin still didn't have his full trust, but he'd proven remarkably useful when it came to tilting the odds in their favor. With luck, the two in front of him would think the Wardens were outnumbered and out-armed, particularly where Valene was without her staff. She'd assured him she would have no trouble casting spells without it, but his training had told him whatever she cast would be weaker and require more of her strength. The sudden worry that she may have to _use_ the daggers she wielded so poorly made him nervous, and he felt his forehead dampen.

Valene, however, was the picture of calm. "So Arl Howe is over this personally? And just how many supporters have you caught?"

The man grinned stupidly. "Oh, _dozens_, all of them so keen to help you until we got our hands on them. They're singing a different tune now." Paedan let out a laugh that made Alistair grit his teeth.

"You are arresting innocents – the true traitor here has been Teryn Loghain, _not_ the Wardens!" All of the calm had vanished from Valene's posture and tone, and she was drawn up to her full height, voice loud and accusing.

The elf woman just laughed. "Yes, and I'm terribly unsurprised you would say that. I'm really supposed to believe the word of a mere mage over that of the hero of the River Dane?" She shook her head and smiled as she reached for her greatsword. "The less you fight, the easier it will be." Alistair couldn't believe she could wield such a massive sword – he didn't think _he'd_ be able to lift it - and it was longer than the elf was tall.

A small smile curved Valene's features. "Then I'm going to make things very, very difficult for everyone involved." Ignoring her daggers completely, Valene's hands were suddenly surrounded by electricity. Alistiar fought the urge to shy away – he'd caught a stray bolt during battle once, and with the way his metal armor, shield and sword had conducted it, he'd felt as though he'd been rammed into a wall. He wasn't going to risk getting caught in it again, particularly not with the qunari jumping to their feet and drawing their own massive weapons. Shevra had her sword in her hands now and raised it, at the ready. Valene let out a cry, "For the Grey Wardens!"

Purple lightning danced into Shevra and the woman trembled with the energy that coursed through her as Alistair raised his shield to defend against a blow from Paedan, the greatsword bouncing off of the small round shield with a metal clang. Alistair had braced for it, and pushed into the swing, throwing the other man off balance. A sudden spray of blood announced Zevran's presence as one of the qunari dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at the mess that had been his belly. With a quick spin the Antivan slit the man's throat, sending more of the warm red wetness flying across the room. Three arrows thudded into the other qunari in quick succession, each of them burying themselves half of their length, despite the heavy chainmail the massive man wore.

Without the usual weight of plate armor, Alistair felt lighter and faster. There was a certain rush to the speed, and Alistair met another clumsy blow easily, shifting his shield to an angle that barely connected with the heavy blade. Paedan fell with the blow, unable to stop the forward swing of his sword. Alistair thrust his own blade through the man's back and gave it a twist. Paedan gurgled on the floor noisily for a few moments before Alistair found the mercy to end his life.

Turning to face the elf, if she was still standing, Alistair found the woman down, her entire form frozen solid. Valene was in front of her, on her knees with one hand supporting her weight, the other clutching her ribs. Blood dripped onto the floor in a steady rhythm. Panic filled his mind and he rushed to the mage's side. "Leliana, go ask the madam for any healing poultices and bandages she has. Zevran, go ask that ship captain for the same. Now!" The two left quickly, Zevran hesitating only slightly as he passed the downed mage. Alistair was trying to appear calm as he coaxed Valene to sit back and lean against the wall amidst the fallen bodies of their foes. Blood covered the wood planks, making the floor sticky. The mage was pale and trembling, but she looked strangely calm. "I'll be fine."

Alistair shook his head and muttered. "Bloody woman... Just lie still and let me see the damage." He slung his small pack to the floor, digging through it for the few supplies he had. They had come into Denerim ill-equipped to deal with injuries as they had expected to only visit Goldanna and Genitivi before leaving. He had a small poultice and a few bandages, but nothing more. Recalling his Templar training, he gently pried Valene's hand from the wound, a sickening feeling entering him at what he saw. It appeared the elf had gotten a good hit in, white bone jutting out of the mage's body at an odd angle, and the wound was deep enough to have gone through all of the muscle. He only hoped it hadn't hit anything vital – if it had, she had only a day at most without an experienced healer, and even that amount of time was generous. Forcing himself to recite a meditation exercise, he did his best to keep the fear from his face. Above all, he had been taught to calm an injured comrade, keep them from killing themselves with fear, even when the wound was severe. Wishing fervently that they had Wynne with them, Alistair placed the mage's hand back over her wound. He didn't want to move her to try and bandage things up until he was sure he had plenty to do so. "Really, did you have to do this the one time we don't have Wynne handy?"

Valene smiled weakly at him. "Sorry for the bad timing." She tried to move forward, but let out a cry of pain that wrenched Alistair's heart. He was cursing himself for not thinking they'd run into trouble, after all, when _didn't_ they run in to trouble?

Taking her free hand in his, he rubbed it lightly, trying to rub some warmth into her – her fingers were ice cold. Leliana rushed into the room, the madam, Sanga, hot on her heels with an armful of healing materials. They'd forewarned Sanga of their intentions, and she had seemed relieved. Now her face was clouded with worry and fear, and he couldn't blame her. If a customer realized what had happened, or saw what was happening, she could easily be called in for questioning by Loghain and never be seen again. "Maker, this is a mess! Get her out of the doorway, the last thing we need is someone sneaking off to the Captain of the Guard with news there's been a murder."

"Leliana, will you take her feet?" At the bard's nod, Alistair moved and gently wrapped his arms around Valene, doing his best to use her shoulders for leverage. He felt the mage tense in his arms, bracing for the pain. He wanted to soothe her, tell her everything would be alright, but first he needed to hide her. Leliana was in position and looked at him, nodding once. He returned the nod and they lifted as one, drawing a pained groan from Valene. Alistair didn't dare move her to the bed, so they simply moved her to the center of the room, laying her out flat. Leliana immediately began working at the fastenings on the armor, undoing laces and buckles that were rarely undone. Alistair joined in, working on the other side, both of them silent.

When the last of the laces were undone, Alistair turned to Sanga. "Do you have any hot water? I don't dare take this off until we can bandage her up tight, and we'll need to rinse it first."

The madam nodded as she stepped over the dead elf and human. "I've got a servant getting the hottest water she can right now. She should be here shortly." She placed the various lengths of bandages and gauze near Alistair and he immediately set about forming a thick stack that would be able to cover the wound. It felt like an act in futility – he was no expert on wounds, but he was familiar enough with them to know that even if she survived, she wouldn't be travel worthy for a month unless they could get her to Wynne.

Turning his attention back to Valene, he settled his gaze on her face. A thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead and her breathing was slow and labored. Brushing the hair out of her face he did his best to smile. "Just stay awake until we can get you patched up. You'll be alright." A nudge at his arm proved to be Leliana with a healing draught. It wouldn't heal something so serious, but it would give Valene some extra strength and help the blood thicken in the wound – she'd already lost enough to cause concern. Uncorking the vial, Alistair placed a hand under the mage's head, tilting her up as best as he could without moving more than was necessary. "Drink this." She complied and he tilted the red liquid into her mouth in small increments, waiting until she'd swallowed one mouthful before giving her more.

Just as she finished the last of the draught, a large bowl of steaming water was placed by his side. It wasn't the servant girl he'd expected, but Zevran. Nodding to the Antivan, Alistair sat back and sighed. Now the real work would begin.

*******

Valene blinked slowly, struggling to focus on the faces that hovered around her. She could tell one was Leliana – the woman's hair gave her away, and she thought another was Alistair. It _sounded_ like him, but her vision was blurry and dark around the edges. _Maker, it's so cold_. Whatever she'd been given to drink had helped some, but she still felt so weak. And the pain... She felt a hand on her wrist, prying her fingers off of the wound in her side, drawing a weak protest from her. Her fingers were sticky and the movement sent more pain coursing through her. Someone was by her head, stroking her hair gently, delicate fingers raking her scalp in a way that soothed at some of the anxiety from her. Zevran's voice whispered at her and she realized it was _his_ hands on her. "Isabella knows a healer – she's gone to get him and she said he lives close by. But for now, my dear, you are going to have to bite down on this. Your wound needs to be cleaned and dressed until the healer can arrive." A small stick was waved in front of her eyes.

Unable to focus properly, Valene let out a whimper, dreading what she knew would come. She opened her mouth reluctantly, and the scent and taste of leather filled her mouth. The hand left her hair, pressing down on one shoulder before Zev's other hand mirrored its twin, pinning both of her shoulders securely against the floor. She felt someone pressing on her legs and tears leaked from her eyes. She stared up at the Antivan, remembering the arrow that had struck her the day she'd spared his life. She had gone through that, she could make it through this. _Can't I?_

She felt the weight of her leather armor lifted slowly, and the movements of the man hovering over her were painfully slow. She thought it was Alistair, but she couldn't quite make out the face. Someone took the leather from him and he procured something slim and silver, setting to work to cut away the lower half of her tunic. Cool air made her shiver hard, setting off sharp needles in her side.

It was then she felt the hot water in her wound and she writhed in pain, struggling to move against those who held her down, anything to get away from the burning sensation in her side. Zevran's voice was soft, pleading for her to lie still, but the agony was too much and she fought until the torrent of heat in her side subsided, leaving her panting and shaking. She had thought the worst was over, but she was wrong.

There was a sudden pressure on her broken rib and things _shifted_ inside her, drawing a cry that was only muffled by the stick between her teeth. Zevran was suddenly lifting her shoulders up as the pressure remained heavy and inexorable on the wound. She didn't fight this time, instead simply crying and sagging against Zevran as bandages were wound around her, tighter and tighter until she felt as though she were being squeezed.

"That's the best I can do. Lay her back down." Alistair _was_ her torturer, then. As Zevran laid her back down, cradling her head in his hands as he did so, something heavy was draped over her and her shivering subsided slightly. Alistair was leaning over her and she tried to focus enough to read his expression. She needed something, anything, to let her know how bad it was. She wasn't afraid of death itself, but she rather thought she'd prefer to miss out on the dying bit. "Valene, open your mouth and I'll take that out." His voice was gentle, coaxing, but there was an edge. _He's worried_.

She was only able to unclench her jaw enough for him to wiggle the leather-covered stick out after a few tries, and even that act was exhausting at this point. Struggling against sleep, she could feel her eyes fluttering. Familiar hands, calloused from years of swordsmanship cupped her chin and Alistair's voice echoed in her head, more distant than before. "Stay awake, please stay awake. The healer should be here soon." She nodded once, trying to keep her eyes open. Sleep tugged at her, pulled her into its comforting embrace until all was black.

*****

Alistair watched the retreating form of the healer as he walked down the dimly lit hall of the Pearl. The man had done well, setting the bone properly and stitching Valene back together. She'd awoken briefly during the setting only to pass out again, this time from what he could only assume was pain after the way she'd thrashed and cried. The healer had advised not moving her more than necessary, but Alistair had explained the situation, including Wynne's healing skills. Given that, the man had insisted on at least two days if they expected her to walk out of Denerim without passing out or dying, and even then he advised going very slowly. It was a delay in the most dangerous place – particularly after they had dispatched Arl Howe's lackeys, but a blood-stained letter found on Paedan's body suggested they only met personally every ten days or so, and even taking prisoners had been sporadic. They wouldn't be missed for a little while. Alistair still grimaced at the amount of gold it had cost for the brothel's bodyguards to dump the bodies off the docks, but it was the only thing he _could_ do. At least the money they'd found on the bodies had covered most of it. The room had been cleaned up, the floor scrubbed hard, and now only faint outlines remained where blood had pooled.

Valene lay asleep on the bed, blankets heaped on her until he could only see her hair from his place in the doorway. A large fire was crackling in the fireplace and the room was warm, but the mage's form still shivered occasionally, the stack of blankets quivering whenever she did. Zevran was sitting by the bed, eyes closed as he hummed something unfamiliar. Leliana had been sent to give news to the rest of the group outside the city, and would not be able to reenter until the next day. He'd given strict instructions to ensure none of them returned with her – the risks that each of their companions presented had not changed. It had been a difficult decision to make, but the healer had reassured him before he had sent the rogue off. Valene would live.

*****

Leliana helped Valene into an unremarkable dress she'd been able to buy for a few silvers. It was a bit too large on the other woman, but with the bulk of bandages she wore, that was for the best. Valene was only able to lift her arms one at a time without pain and Leliana did her best to assist. The mage's entire side was covered in an unusually thick layer of bandages in case movement caused the wound to bleed again, but Leliana had seen what it looked like underneath: a mass of purple and black bruises and the angry gash that was longer than her hand. The healer had been back to change the poultice twice and had mentioned that the swelling had gone down some. He'd given them a substantial amount of elfroot leaves for Valene to chew on – it would help with the pain without addling her wits. Wynne had been almost apoplectic at being told to wait outside the city, and Leliana was not looking forward to the scolding she and Alistair would receive for refusing to let the senior enchanter enter the city to assist. As it was, the Pearl had been comfortable enough for Valene's healing and the madam had been surprisingly lenient considering the mess they'd made. Zevran's friend, Isabella, had proven invaluable, letting the three bunk on her ship. They'd gone in shifts to assure someone was with the mage, even after she had awoken. All of them had been on edge, waiting for someone to come barging into the Pearl, demanding to know where the Grey Wardens were, but it had been quiet.

With both sleeves on properly, Leliana tugged the skirts down the rest of the way, smoothing them out as best she could. Moving behind Valene, she began doing up the buttons to close up the back of the dress. "Thank you, Leliana, I couldn't have done this by myself." Leliana smiled. Valene sounded stronger than she had the day before, and had eaten well that morning.

"You're very welcome, Valene. I'm just glad things have been so quiet since you were injured." Even though the journey out of the city would likely take them most of the day, Leliana had ensured Bodhan would be waiting just outside the gates. The peddler had been trading near the gates as it was, forgoing the crowded spaces in the marketplace. There had been talk of having him drive his cart to the Pearl, but banditry had been increasingly frequent since Cailin's death. On top of that, a peddler leaving and entering within the same day was enough to cause suspicion – the entire city seemed on edge, waiting for something to give. Once they reached the dwarven merchant, it would be an hour's ride to the rest of their companions. Finishing with the last button, Leliana straightened the back of the dress one more time before fetching a light cloak. In the event things got bad and she did start to bleed through her dressing, the cloak was a deep brown and would hide things well enough. The bard hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Valene had initially suggested traveling in groups of two, but the three of them had protested, the unpatrolled side streets too dangerous to allow safe passage. Three of Isabella's men would be shadowing them to the gates as extra protection. There was a quiet knock on the door and Leliana picked up her bow, nocking an arrow but not drawing. "Come in."

The door opened slowly to admit Alistair and Zevran and Leliana let out a sigh of relief. "Oh good, it's just you."

Alistair gave her a half-smile. "You don't have to seem so happy about it, you know." The two men were wearing cloaks themselves and Alistair had agreed to wear a leather helm after the elf woman had recognized him so easily.

"Are we set to go?" All of them turned to Valene. She was standing straight and, for the time being, didn't show any signs of being injured. As she took a few steps towards the door, she let out a slow breath. "Let's get this over with." The two men moved to support her, but she shook her head. "Not until I need it." Watching the mage stagger out the doorway, Leliana shook her head as she began to offer a prayer to the Maker.


	25. Chapter 24

_AN: My semester is coming to an end in a few weeks, but this week/weekend will be the busiest for me. I apologize ahead of time for any delay in posting and if I do miss normal deadlines, know I will post whatever I can until I am caught up. I have one more chapter written after this, but beyond that things may be late for a week or two until I get the paper for my master's course finished._

* * *

Valene leaned heavily on Zevran, each step bring a new jolt of pain through her side. She could feel blood seeping from the wound, but several glances at her dress had showed no red – it was not as bad as it could have been. Still, she thought at least one of her stitches had torn when she had tripped over a raised stone and hit the ground hard. It was then she had finally agreed to let Alistair and Zevran help her. They'd taken turns, each of them walking her several blocks before switching. In some ways, the assistance was worse – it was difficult for them to support her without bunching up her dress or bandages in a way that pulled at the stitches, and the time Alistair's hand had slipped, pressing against the broken rib, she had been unable to restrain a sob. It only grew more agonizing the further they went and she could feel the swelling return to her side.

It was nearly dusk and the city was full of shadows, glimmers of orange light illuminating the banners that flew high on towers and at guard posts. The great wall that ringed the city was finally rising far above their heads and she knew they were almost there. Leliana had gone ahead to ensure the gate didn't close and to alert Bodahn. The bard had proven invaluable over the past two days, dressing and washing her, singing or telling her stories; anything to take Valene's mind off of the pain and her own frustration with herself for being overly confident. She had thought the lightning spell would slow the elf down, but it seemed to have only enraged the woman. The only reason Shevra hadn't cut her in two was the elf's distraction at hearing her companion's body hit the ground. The other woman had turned towards the noise and it threw off the angle of her blow enough that Valene had only taken a small fraction of what had been intended. Still, the wound raged in her side and she began to wish she'd studied healing at the Tower instead of the few weeks with Wynne.

Zevran slowed his footsteps, then stopped, Valene forced to follow his pace.  
His arm slid from around her and he slowly pulled away. "I think it will be best if you don't look as though you've been stabbed in the gut when we go through the gates, yes?"

Valene couldn't help a slight smile. The elf was right – she was likely quite a sight clinging to a man inches shorter than her for support. They'd devised a cover story, should they be questioned, but she didn't want to trust Alistair's ability to lie – he was absolutely terrible; stumbling even when the other two had practiced amongst themselves the night before. Nodding slightly, Valene straightened her shoulders gently. "You're right, Zev." She started to take a deep breath before a protest from her broken rib stopped it short.

Alistair took up a position on her other side. "We'll be here to help if you need it. Just stay upright. I don't think you can take another fall like the one earlier." She could see the worry in his face – it had been a constant presence since she had woken in a bed with hands delving into her, shifting things around one another. Alistair had whispered "I'm sorry" over and over, holding her shoulders down while the healer had done his work. She'd finally blacked out when bone had met bone again, the scraping bringing a pain so pure it had drowned out sight and smell and sound. The memory made her blood run cold.

"I think I can make it." They rounded a corner and the gate was only fifty or so paces away, and Valene could make out the faint outline of a wagon with a very short merchant another ten paces beyond that. _Sixty paces, three steps to a pace..._ One-hundred and eighty steps and she would be there. Forcing her feet to move, she began to count. _One, two, three..._

* * *

Wynne paced restlessly, unable to stay still. A small green wisp of light hovered around her head, casting a strange glow on everything around her. They were later than she had expected – Zevran had been the messenger yesterday, telling them they planned to arrive around sunset. It was over an hour past, and there was no sign, nothing breaking the relative silence of the night. They'd camped just off the road in the field of an accommodating farmer who had happily taken the sovereign and told them they could stay as long as they wished. Valene's desire for secrecy hadn't kept Oghren in the camp the past two nights, and only Morrigan's help had kept him here tonight. The apostate had overhead Wynne pleading with the dwarf to stay and had turned into a giant spider right before the man's eyes. Oghren had blinked several times before stumbling his way off to his tent, mumbling something about too much ale. As much as Wynne mistrusted the other mage, she had taken instruction well enough; particularly as the two had gone over what must be done as soon as Valene and the others arrived. Morrigan's usual obstinance and disdain had disappeared in the face of the need for the two healers to work together. Wynne didn't suspect she'd need the help, but it would make things go more smoothly and swiftly if she did not have to work alone.

A faint creak of wood brought Wynne's head around and she stared down the road. She could barely make out the faint orange light of a lamp. As the creaking grew louder, footsteps and the sound of jingling chainmail announced the arrival of Alistair. He wore a look of exhausted relief. Wynne was caught off guard when he wrapped her in a tight hug, and it was only when she pounded his back that he let go. "Sorry, I'm just so happy we're here." He turned his gaze towards the slowly approaching wagon. "We got out of the city alright, but riding in the wagon has been torture for her, so we've gone slowly. Leliana has been riding with her and says she feels feverish, but complaining of being cold."

Wynne nodded. "It sounds as though there may be an infection. I was beginning to worry about you. I'll go get Morrigan – you get Valene out of the wagon as soon as they're at this spot."

"There is no need to fetch me, I am here." The apostate's voice cut through the night cleanly. The other woman was calm and casual, looking as though nothing particularly interesting was going on.

Wynne did her best to smile, despite her worry. "Thank you again for your willingness to help, Morrigan."

The other woman laughed softly. "'Tis not for you I do this." Morrigan's eyes settled on Alistair. "Nor you. Valene needs what assistance I can give, so you shall have it. For her."

Wynne blinked in surprise – she'd known Valene and the other woman had grown closer since their time in Orzammar, frequently chatting at the apostate's lonely fire in the evenings and mornings, but she hadn't expected the loyalty in Morrigan's voice. "All the same, you have my thanks."

The wagon was nearly on them and the three of them grew silent. There was work to do.

* * *

It had been a week since they had left Denerim and they were already two days behind her intended schedule. Wynne and Morrigan had insisted she was too weak to take the lead, even after she had been healed, and Alistair had led the group since then. Valene didn't blame Alistair for the slow pace –she knew full well the other two mages had bullied him into it, despite his protestations that he didn't want to be held responsible for making such slow time. The three had spoken in harsh whispers shortly after the healing was completed, all of them assuming Valene was asleep. Shaking her head, Valene trudged along, itching to move her feet more quickly. The injury had drained her for the first few days, but aside from the massive bruises, there wasn't anything wrong with her. Even the black and purple marks on her torso were fading, and none of them were tender. She could feel her strength returning with each day, assisted by the steady supply of game Leliana put in the pot each night.

Valene saw a tiny ball of ice fly past Alistair's face, making the man jump. Sighing to herself, she turned to Morrigan and raised an eyebrow, but the apostate looked at her innocently. "Uh, alright everyone, we're stopping to rest." Alistair turned around, eyes still slightly wide in surprise.

Fighting the urge to destroy something, Valene kept on. "I'm not tired. Stop acting like I'm still injured." Alistair stepped in front of her as if to stop, but she simply stepped around him. She heard Morrigan hiss like a cat, but continued on, not flinching. _I will _not_ let them continue this_.

A glyph appeared on the ground mid-step, and she couldn't stop herself in time to avoid it. The glyph immediately paralyzed her and could only be Wynne's doing. Hoping her face had at least frozen in a scowl, Valene saw the two mages and Alistair move into her peripheral vision. "Quit being stubborn child, you'll not be at full strength for another week."

_Another week?_ The thought of having to endure such coddling made her want to cry. _Or scream_. They had more important things to worry about than if their glorious leader was a bit tired. She could say nothing until the glyph dissipated, instead choosing to silently fume. _Maker, I can't even move my bloody eyes around_.

It was several moments before the glyph faded, releasing Valene. Stretching a bit, she settled her gaze on the senior enchanter. "Wynne, if I'm such a fragile child, then why in the name of the Maker did you decide to _follow_ me?" The older woman gave her no answer and didn't even have the courtesy to look abashed. Valene wasn't sure if she could handle Wynne mentioning anything about "old bones."

"You_ are_ being stubborn. At least that is true. Besides, I doubt you have the strength to properly cast." Morrigan was goading her now. If Valene had known an injury would ally the two, she would have gotten something lobbed off earlier. Alistair and Zevran seemed to be getting along as well, to the amazement of all.

Valene frowned to herself, trying to think of a way to at least make them go faster. Full-speed might not be the best idea, but they were almost crawling along. She could sense the tension from Sten as well, though his hostility seemed to be aimed at the delay in general, not a particular person.

Suddenly, Valene realized she didn't have to rely on eloquence and persuasion to convince the others she was, at the very least, strong enough to travel faster. Morrigan had all but asked her to even _attempt_ a spell. Memories of Lothering flitted around in her head. _Fire_ is_ a legitimate form of persuasion, after all_. A small ball of fire had worked for the Revered Mother. Eyeing a small clump of trees thirty paces ahead, Valene knew she'd have to work quickly. Gathering the magic inside her, she thrust her hands out, sending a fireball directly into the trees.

Wynne, Morrigan and Alistair barely had time to react before the trees exploded and caught fire. The three fell to the ground, covering their heads for protection as bits of charred splinters flew into the sky a few moments before raining down on them. Footsteps announced the rest of the group and it was Oghren who reached her first. "What in the name of the Ancestors was _that_?"

Valene laughed with glee. "Oh, nothing. Just showing these three how terribly, horribly _weak_ I am." Morrigan shot her a dirty look and Wynne shook her head, but Alistair was grinning at her from his prone position on the ground. His smile made her heart leap and she found herself relieved he hadn't been in on it.

"Would you at least have the decency to put the fire out?" Wynne was getting to her feet slowly, brushing dirt off of her robes with a heavy sigh.

Unslinging her staff, Valene obliged in the most dramatic way possible, casting a blizzard over the area. That _did _take some energy out of her, but she didn't care. It felt good to destroy something after being so cautiously handled. By the time she was done, the others had wandered off and only Alistair remained. He watched the blizzard rage for several moments before turning to her. "Does this mean you're leading again?" His face was eager.

Laughing softly, Valene nodded. "Oh yes. We have time to make up."

* * *

Alistair watched Valene as she huddled around the apostate's campfire, talking animatedly with the woman. Morrigan had refused to talk to Valene for three days after the fireball incident, suddenly speaking again this morning, acting as if nothing had happened. Soft laughter drifted over and he couldn't help smiling. Denerim had been a waking nightmare and it was good to get a normal feel back to the group. Wynne and Morrigan were back to quiet glares, each one blaming the other for Valene's outburst. They were both at fault, picking at him the way they had, getting _him_ to do their dirty work. The other Warden had seen through it, however, and was back in full command. Their pace was still slower than usual, but they weren't losing more than an hour's travel each day. He was certain they'd be back to full pace within another week. Even encounters with darkspawn had been light, and they'd only met two small bands that had been easily dispatched.

Smiling to himself, Alistair shook his head. He still couldn't quite believe Valene had allowed herself such an outburst, even if it had been endlessly amusing to see the other two mages so absolutely furious with each other. Seeing her smile at him that day, eyes sparkling and color in her face, had brought back the feelings that had been nagging at him before Denerim, but they were stronger now. Every time she grinned at him – or anyone, really – he had to fight the urge to sweep her into his arms and find somewhere private. The urges were beginning to drive him crazy and he intended to do something about it. The words she'd said after they'd left Goldanna's house still ran through his memory. He saw Valene stand up and start towards the main fire and a smile crept on his face. _Tonight it is, then_.

Alistair nodded as Valene sat down near him on a skin spread out by the fire. They sat quietly for a while, enjoying the warmth of the flames as they cut the coolness of the night. Alistair was going over what he'd say in his head, what he wanted to ask. Finally deciding it was all rubbish, he plunged ahead with what he did best: talk without thinking beforehand. "Valene, I've been meaning to ask you about what you told me when we left Goldanna's. About people being out for themselves." Grey eyes settled on him and he quashed the urge to shift under her gaze. "Did you really mean that?" He didn't want to find out the words that had been bouncing around in his head for more than a week were something said lightly.

The mage nodded slowly, letting out a slow breath. "I did. I mean, it's a little different for people like us – we've been born a certain way, or sworn certain oaths that make us more responsible than most. But duty doesn't consume every waking hour, and responsibility shouldn't direct every decision." She smiled slightly and shook her head. "I'm not very good at explaining this, am I?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, it makes sense. Outside of obligations I should be concerned with myself." She nodded happily, making a small noise of assent. The feelings that had been swirling inside him for weeks surged forward. Need, desire, hunger, passion. All the things he hadn't felt with her before, he felt now. He felt his cheeks flush as his heart beat faster and took a deep breath. "Well then, that makes things easier. I want you."

The words were off of his lips before he realized what he was saying. Valene blinked a few times before regaining her composure. "Alistair, we went over-"

He was not going to be stopped now and cut her off. "No, Valene, we didn't go over anything. I was stupid and I hurt you and then you hurt _me_ and then you stomped off. There wasn't much in the way of talking, was there?" Something surged through him, but it wasn't anger. Determination pushed the words from him when he normally would have been a stammering, blushing mess. Scooting towards her until they were nearly touching, Alistair shook his head with a small laugh. "Maker, I was stupid, and I've been regretting it, blaming you for everything, particularly when Teagan flirted with you and you responded so smoothly, as though nothing had ever happened between us." Being so close to her was making his hands itch.

Red tinged the mage's cheeks and her eyes dropped to her lap. "That was careless of me and I was hurt. I wasn't thinking." She shook her head. "If you must know, I did apologize to him for leading him on." Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, she gave him a cringing look. "I still don't think I deterred him, though. He implied he would be open to an arrangement should I wish it so."

Unable to help himself, Alistair laughed at the absurdity of it all. They'd both been so intent on hurting each other they hadn't been ready to deal with the consequences. "I'm not surprised – he was rather taken with you _before_ you saved the entire village." Pausing as the last words sank in, he tried to sound nonchalant. "What did you tell him?"

Valene shot him a look that told him he should know the answer. "The truth. That I loved you." Hearing the words again, even in the past tense, made him falter in his newfound bravado. "And that you loved me."

_That I _love_ you, you silly woman._ "And how did he react?" Alistair wondered how well that must have gone over with the bann – from Alistair's understanding the nobleman had been content to have casual dalliances with women, but had found no one who had made him consider anything more serious._ And now he _has_ found someone, she's in love with me and I've done nothing to change her mind_. Well, he'd done nothing until tonight, but he wanted that to change. He would _make_ that change if she let him.

"He said he understood and asked if I would be willing to talk should things... change in a way that would favor him." Panic filled him momentarily, clawing at him to ask her if she still loved him or if that, too, was in the past. _Too much time spent with this stupid dance of propriety and pretending_. He didn't want that any more, he wanted _her_.

He stayed quiet, trying to grapple with the whirlwind of emotions inside him before regaining enough control to speak without sounding like an over-eager fool. "And have they changed?"

Valene froze, holding her breath for several moments as she stared into the fire. Alistair leaned forward unconsciously, bringing himself even closer to her. "I don't think answering that would be wise."

Cursing softly, Alistair leaned back with a sigh, letting his head fall back so he could stare into the sky. "Andraste's flaming sword, Valene, I don't _care _about being wise right now. You've been driving me absolutely crazy." Bringing his head back up, he gave her a pleading smile. "Please, I need to know."

She frowned and shook her head. "No, I'm not going to go off about the way I feel when you've hardly said a word about the way _you_ feel. I'm tired of doing everything first when it's come to us."

_Us. There's still an 'us?' _Alistair didn't want to read too much into the word, but it felt good to hear it from her. She did have a point though – his confessions had come long after hers, and he'd told her his life in bits and pieces. "I'm fairly certain you heard me talking to your tent, but I told you I loved you then and I love you now. And I _am_ serious when I say you've been driving me mad. It's been torture to watch you fight and kill and laugh and smile and not be able to be a part of that in any meaningful way." She started to say something but he shook his head. "Please, let me finish." She sat back and closed her mouth, eyeing him oddly. "Watching you bleed out the way you did – I realized that whether you love me or not, whether we have anything between us, losing you would be very, very bad for everyone involved. Even if you don't love me anymore, I don't want this hanging between us, I just want to know how you feel, how I'm supposed to act around you." _How I'm supposed to feel about you_. Biting his lip to stop himself from spilling out _more_ useless drabble, Alistair began wondering if he should have said the last. If she still refused him, he at least wanted to _try_ and be friends. They were the last Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, and they couldn't afford this distance. Her injury hadn't spurred his outburst – if anything, it had _delayed_ it – but he hadn't really thought about how close a thing that had been. For two days she hadn't been the invincible leader that everyone seemed to assume she was. He couldn't deny wanting her, _needing_ her, but he would not take more than she was willing to give. He had done what he could – now it was up to her.

Valene remained silent, but she her breathing was shallow and Alistair ached to tuck that damnable stray lock of hair that always seemed to taunt him at the wrong moments.

Time passed slowly and the fire began to die down. Alistair grew cold and stiff, waiting for an answer, even though he wasn't so certain he wanted to know. He'd hoped that she still felt something, anything for him, but that hope was growing weaker, overshadowed as it was by doubt in himself.

After over an hour, Alistair finally started to get up. He couldn't take it any longer. He turned to go to his tent, when a soft voice stopped him. "Alistair, wait." Reluctantly returning to his sitting position, Alistair sighed softly. At the sound she raised her head to look at him, eyes wet. "I'll tell you."


	26. Chapter 25

_AN: As I noted Thursday, there may be a pause in posting for a week or so due to the end of the semester. I'll update as much as possible once I have the time again (maximum will be two weeks break.) Anything I miss I will post until I am caught up. _

* * *

Valene could barely breathe the way her chest was tightening each time she thought of telling him no. She was torn between what she wanted to do and what she _should_ do. Even if she wanted to give in, she knew she should tell him no, tell him it was over. _Even if it's not_.Her mind raced, weighing the two choices, and her emotions cut in at every opportunity, surging through her, pushing her to just give in, Blight be damned, and just _be_ with him. He was so close, so quiet and still, patient, waiting for her to answer him, his very presence spinning her head. The night grew colder, her bottom growing numb on the hard ground, but still, she did not move. It wasn't until he stood up to leave that she knew she could no longer stay quiet. "Alistair, wait."

Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as he sat down by her. He'd been so close and his presence was comforting, tempting. She wanted things the way they were before Redcliffe, the way he'd been able to melt away concern and trouble with soft, sweet kisses and tender hugs, but she knew that was over. The way he spoke and the way she felt now, the innocence was gone, replaced by something more complex and demanding. She wanted _more_ than that. She'd forgiven him, but she'd been too stubborn, too set on his royal blood to give in to him again. Alistair let out a soft sigh and she turned to him, taking a deep breath. "I'll tell you."

He only nodded, though she saw a hand twitch. _At least he's half as nervous as I am_. It was small comfort when the words she would tell him could damn them both. Wynne's lecture crept into her head, the stern tone telling her love was ultimately selfish. It was, but being selfish didn't seem such a horrible thing. _I have duties, responsibilities, we both do, but that's not everything, is it?_ She was tired of serving her time, of playing the martyr when she didn't have to. So long as she could still make the right decision, what they shared didn't need to be tucked away behind layers of uncertainty and doubt. She would tell him the truth. _He deserves that much_.

"I... I still love you, Alistair. I don't know that it means-" She was cut off by his mouth on hers and rational thought fled, replaced by a leaping response inside her. Tangling a hand in his hair she pulled him close and the kissed until they were both breathless. Panting softly, she closed her eyes, feeling complete for the first time in weeks. "I love you."

"And I love you." He buried his face against her neck and pulled her close. "Maker, we were idiots." She laughed softly out of sheer relief and clung to him for several moments before her own desire drove her towards him again. The kiss was deeper this time, more desperate, each of them grasping at each other in a way that spoke of need and pent-up loneliness, both of them trying to resolve it all with one long kiss.

By the time they tore themselves apart, she was lying on the skin spread out on the ground and Alistair was leaning over her, the two of them only just realizing the compromising position. She felt a rush even as her cheeks heated, her chest rising and falling with soft, panting breaths. Alistair ran a finger down the side of her face, tracing all the way down her neck to her collarbone. His eyes, usually such a warm, bright honey color, had darkened and he kissed her forehead softly. She could feel him trembling against her as he spoke. "Spend the night with me."

The words made her gasp and she found herself speechless. It didn't sound like a question, but she could see his soft expression and knew he was asking, _wanting_, not demanding. Staring up at him she tried to calm her nerves enough for proper speech. "A-are you sure?" She could hear the tremor in her own voice, uncertain if it was from excitement or anxiety. Desire welled up beneath the nerves, pushing her to give in, to make up for time wasted.

He nodded and closed his eyes. "Maker, yes. I want to be with you." He blushed as though he had just realized what he was saying and he gave her a small smile. "Maybe I'm moving too fast..." She shook her head quickly and relief crept into his features. "I know it's not terribly romantic in the midst of a camp, but that doesn't matter to me as long as it's with you. I've been too long without you and it's made me want you in ways I've never felt before. I've never done anything like this, but... I want it to be with you, if you'll have me. Tonight."

Searching his face for any signs of apprehension she found none and something about his confidence made her smile. She knew that tonight might not be the best experience – one didn't grow up around mages without learning plenty about love-making – but she didn't_ care_. They had a Blight to face and darkspawn to kill, and she didn't want to wait anymore. She tried to find the words to express how she felt, that her wants and needs matched his, but when she opened her mouth, only one came out. "Yes."

* * *

Alistair rolled over sleepily and opened his eyes reluctantly. The tent was dim, but he could see well enough, meaning sunrise was approaching. Pushing himself into a sitting position he shivered at the cold air on his skin. He wondered where his tunic was only a moment before his mind cleared enough to remember last night. Valene lay next to him, snuggled down into the bedroll, her breaths slow and even. He'd let her wear the shirt last night, after... He grinned to himself. He still couldn't believe she still loved him, much less spent the night with _him_. Settling back down into his bedroll he wrapped his arm around her and decided to forgo his usual morning meditations. Even breakfast could wait, especially if it meant more time with her. Pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders he let out a soft sigh of contentment. All was well.

* * *

Zevran was cutting apples into the breakfast pot when quiet conversation caught his ears. Turning slightly, he frowned, wondering if he'd missed the sounds of someone emerging from their tent. He was usually aware enough of his surroundings to catch such movement. Listening carefully, he realized the voices were coming from Alistair's tent. It was moments before Zevran realized his jaw had dropped open in amazement. Closing his mouth, he heard rustling coming from the tent and a few whispered words about robes. Chuckling to himself, Zevran returned to cutting up the apples while the two inside the tent tried to be quiet. He had to admit surprise over this happening as quickly as it did, and a slight disappointment that Alistair had succeeded where he had never had an opening. He only hoped it hadn't gone badly for her.

It wasn't until the mixture of oats, fruit, spices and honey were boiling in the pot that he finally heard footsteps. Looking over his shoulder nonchalantly, he smiled when he saw Valene. She looked much as she did any other morning, fully dressed down to her gloves, hair mostly smoothed. She was missing her staff, though – that must still be in her tent. "Good morning, my dear Warden. Breakfast is still a few minutes off." She turned a shade of red that made him grin widely. "I hope you... slept well?"

The mage's mouth hung open a few moments before she nodded and straightened her skirts, striding towards him. "Very well, actually." There wasn't a hint of mockery in her face and that made things all the more interesting. As she sat down on a large log near the fire he considered pressing her further. He couldn't ask too directly and expect any answers– Fereldens were far too proper for that – but she could be overly expressive when embarrassed and that worked in his favor.

"Excellent. And are you feeling quite well?" That earned him a glare and he laughed softly. "I am only concerned you are being treated well, my friend."

She sighed and nodded. "Yes, though I'm sore in places I'd rather not mention." Zevran raised both of his eyebrows. She seemed to have sat comfortably enough and there wasn't much in the way of avoidance in the way she looked at him. Still, he wouldn't be surprised if the Templar had handled her rather poorly.

Stirring the pot slowly, Zevran nodded to himself. "You know, I could have given you advice. You had only to ask. I'm sure I still possess several bits of information that would prove most _helpful_ in the future." Zev would not hold a grudge or even bother feeling too put out. He had lost the game because he had quit playing it and now he only wished for the two to actually _enjoy_ each other instead of fumbling around until one of them figured it out.

Valene quirked one eyebrow at him. "I'm sure, but growing up around mages you learn a lot of the... theory by proxy. And it wasn't exactly planned." Her tone was dry and she seemed to be not at all amused by his offer.

Remembering the night he'd spent with the mage who had been his mark brought a smile to his face. Most mages he'd met had been remarkably casual about sex, and even Wynne hadn't seemed shy about discussing previous exploits. "Excellent. So you at least had an idea of what to expect?"

"Yes, as well as advice on how to make things easier. I'm fine Zev, really." Remembering the rather exciting tantrum she'd thrown at being coddled after Denerim, Zevran just nodded. He wouldn't prod her anymore – she seemed content enough and he'd heard nothing during the night to contradict. "I'm going to fetch what's needed for tea. Do you need anything from the wagon?" When he shook his head, she stood up and walked off.

Somewhat disappointed by the lack of reaction, Zev looked forward to teasing Alistair. He would be _far_ too easy.

* * *

Morrigan looked off to the south, eyeing the line of trees that marked the woods she knew so well. They were in Lothering, or rather, what was _left_ of Lothering. They'd only passed by the town on the highway on the way to Denerim, but the journey back had brought them through as evening neared and Valene had decided to stay here. Morrigan knew the Wardens could sense darkspawn, but she didn't find the decision wise for other reasons. Flemeth was only three days away from here. She'd set her tent on the north side of camp, close to the others and had expected questions or derisive comments, but none came.

Valene was talking about something or other with Alistair near the campfire, their voices low and serious. Morrigan had been disappointed when she realized the two had reconciled, but she supposed it could have been worse. They kept things relatively out of sight and no one else had complained about noise, so she could only assume they were being courteous. The other mage seemed happy enough, which was all Morrigan really cared about. In the months since she had told Valene of Flemeth's method of prolonging her life, she had grown close with the other woman. It was strange to think of someone as a friend, stranger still to think of trusting another with her life, but Morrigan _did_ think of her that way.

After several minutes, Valene left her place by Alistair's side and made her way to Morrigan. The other mage sat down near her, but said nothing. It was one of the things Morrigan could appreciate about her – she seemed to understand that words were not always necessary for one to express meaning. After Morrigan's comment on personal space, she'd also kept an acceptable distance as well. It was unusual to feel so comfortable around another human, but pleasant, all the same.

It wasn't until the sky had darkened considerably that Morrigan finally spoke. "She gave me a ring before I left. She said it would allow her to find me." A raised eyebrow from the other mage made Morrigan laugh. "Oh, I disabled its power before we reached Lothering, have no worries of _that_. Still, it has me wondering if there is some other way my mother has devised to track me. Something I would not be able to sense." It was unlikely, though not out of the question. Morrigan knew her mother had kept more than her method for pro-longing life to herself. There were likely countless methods of manipulating magic to do things Morrigan hadn't even considered. All the same, one of Morrigan's talents was sensing power in objects or people, and she had felt nothing since the ring had been disabled. Still, she kept it, should she ever need to track another herself, but for now it was nothing more than a simple iron ring.

"I doubt that. You know the feel of her power too well to let it slip by. I still can't believe you found that Grimoire in the Tower after all that had gone on there." A strange stiffness entered the other mage's tone as she spoke of her former home. "I felt nothing of her power when I should have been rather acutely attuned. She'd healed me so recently – and healing something so severe leaves an imprint."

Morrigan turned to eye the mage warily. "You have no reservations about killing the woman who saved your life?"

Valene sighed and shook her head. "It's not quite that simple, is it, Morrigan? She said she saved our lives to stop the Blight, which was not without her own interest. I am grateful for her help, but saving two lives doesn't excuse using countless others. I can't imagine how many she's used in that way."

Morrigan had an idea – dozens, if the grimoire was any true record, but its age was only a few hundred years, where stories of Flemeth reached back much farther. Valene did not need to hear about the sheer number of daughters her mother had already taken and possessed. Pushing thoughts of Flemeth from her head, Morrigan eyed the other mage. "Have you been taking those herbs I gave you?"

The other woman blinked at the sudden change of subject before nodding. "Yes, I have. Thank you for your assistance." Morrigan let out a small laugh. She may not be able to stop Valene from loving that fool Templar, but she could at least prevent her getting with child, even if it was only slightly possible with the Taint in both of them. Valene had been grateful, not wanting anything to do with children of her own. She was overly indulgent with the ones they did encounter, but so long as she didn't let romantic ideals fill her head while the Blight still raged, Morrigan could not asked for more.

"The last thing I need is Alistair in miniature and even _more_ helpless than he is now." Valene shot her a reproaching look and Morrigan grinned. "Come, he does well enough in battle, but he cannot cook and he is absolutely useless any time you toss him a map." A rather odd idea struck her, and Morrigan's curiosity spurred her to speak. "Though I do wonder – he _is_ capable in bed, yes? I cannot fathom any other decent reason for things to have continued unless that was the case."

Three months ago such a question would have reduced Valene to stammers and blushes, but now there was only the slightest hint of color as she smiled knowingly. "I wondered if you would ask, Zevran and Leliana both pestered me about it the day after. But yes, he is, surprising as that may seem. He is... 'good at taking directions,' as Leliana put it."

Laughing, Morrigan shook her head. "Then I shall leave the two of you to be sickeningly sweet around each other, so long as you do not disturb me the one night I am near enough the fire to notice anything."

The smile slipped from Valene's face and she shook her head. "No, we're sharing watch tonight."

Frowning, Morrigan wondered why there would be need for such a thing. Ever since they had found that irritating golem, all of them had been able to get a full night's rest. "Why would you do that now we have the golem? And certainly, it will not only be between the two of you, will it?"

The other mage let out a soft sigh and nodded. "Yes, Alistair will take the first half and I will take the other. Shale will still be up, of course, but there's something odd about the place. I can't sense any darkspawn movements or... hear them. Maybe it's just the filth and corruption they left here, but I haven't felt the Taint this strongly since the Dead Trenches." The others knew the Wardens could sense darkspawn, but only Morrigan knew they could also hear them. Neither Alistair nor Valene pretended to be able to understand their form of speech, but that was something even Morrigan never wished to hear. "We block them when we sleep, to avoid the nightmares, but that leaves us more vulnerable to an ambush. It's usually simple enough to know whether or not they're close before falling asleep, but with the presence so strong here, we've decided that, at least for tonight, we will stand watch."

They sat several minutes in silence before Valene finally stood. "I'm going to try and get some sleep. Rest well, Morrigan."

As she watched Valene disappear into her tent, Morrigan once again fixed her eyes to the south. She could feel nothing of Flemeth's power. It meant her mother was far enough away to not be an imminent threat. With reluctance, she slipped into her tent, confident that her mother had no interest in Lothering and no reason for being near. Morrigan didn't dare sleep until Valene was on watch – whatever Alistair's training, he was out of practice and wouldn't be as attuned to magic as a mage. For now, however, she refused to let her mother's shadow keep her out in the cold. She was a grown woman, a powerful mage and she had at least one friend by her side. Smiling to herself she let out a small laugh. Her mother would never suspect the latter, particularly not from a Circle mage. Morrigan almost wished she could see her mother's face when Valene killed her. _Almost_.

* * *

_AN2: I will be doing a separate piece that will fit in after Valene's point-of-view in order to keep this to a T. The separate piece will have an M rating and I will post an author's note once it is up!_


	27. Chapter 26

_AN: I'm finally back! I'm working on the next chapter, as well as the M-rated piece that fits in chapter 25. I'll update what I have written until I'm back on schedule, then return to the Monday-Thursday updates. If I can, I'll move to three chapters a week as the month progresses. Thank you so much for your support – the story now has 7,000 views! _

_Additional note: used to show *'s as breaks, but they all disappeared. I'm working on replacing them, I apologize for any confusion this may have caused in reading._

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The young mage paced nervously, muttering to itself as if in an argument. Shale never _could_ understand the way humans seemed compelled to think out loud. All she knew was the constant buzzing of human speech interrupted _her_ thoughts and made her wish to squish things. Sighing heavily, Shale had to admit she didn't think she could bring herself to squash the young mage. It had freed her, after all, and had not tried to compel her to anything she did not wish. The journey had proved amusing so far and given Shale so _very_ many opportunities to crush darkspawn and birds. The young mage didn't even insist Shale stand watch, approaching her each night to ask if she wished to do something else. It was... odd, to have a _mage_ asking what her will was, but it pleased Shale no less. The camp was delightfully quiet at night, and Shale was left to her thoughts with little disturbance.

The quiet murmuring of the young mage grew nearer and Shale sighed again. It did not seem very likely to quiet down, so talking might prove less annoying. "Does it have a problem? Someone it needs squished?"

It stopped suddenly and blinked, looking up at Shale as if it had only just noticed her. "Uh, no, not squishing. I've already killed one of the Arl's family members, I doubt he'll take kindly to me offing another." The young mage looked nervous, and its voice wavered slightly. "I'm just... well, I'd rather not visit Redcliffe."

Shale gave a grunt. The village had been full of scared little humans, just as Honnleath had been, but once they'd been saved they couldn't stop fawning over everyone, Shale included. They'd reached out with their soft, grubby little hands, poking at her arms and legs, stroking the crystals that peppered her skin. She did _not_ like having humans so... comfortable with her. The young mage had seemed rather eager to leave as well._ Perhaps the humans had insisted on poking at it too?_ "If it doesn't want to go, why did it tell everyone we _are _going?" Humans could prove remarkably dense, but Shale found herself disappointed, nonetheless. The young mage was nice, and quite capable for a flesh-creature. _Perhaps the blonde one's silliness is contagious?_ Shale knew enough of human mating rituals to understand they could pass all sorts of disgusting disease on to each other. _As if the act wasn't revolting enough in and of itself_.

The young mage gave Shale a half-smile. "I wish I could do whatever I wanted and have it be what is needed. We need to see if the Arl is still alive before we go running off to Haven. If he's dead, we need to make other plans, quickly." Its face had turned more serious now, and it had turned slightly, looking in the direction of Redcliffe.

Pondering the statement a moment, Shale chose her words carefully. "Would this Arl being dead be... helpful?" A frown from the young mage told Shale the answer without any words. "Fine, have it your way. I still think you humans are terribly silly for running about and doing things that don't please you. I know what it's like to be ordered around and be at the beck and call of someone, and I can't imagine someone _willingly_ subjecting themselves to such a thing."

There were several moments of silence before it finally turned and spoke, and when it did, its voice was so quiet Shale could barely make out the words. "No one else is driving me, Shale. I am the master of my actions, and some things are necessary, even if I don't like them." There was a wry smile and then the young mage laughed lightly. "I see you're still giving me the look that says I'm an idiot. Redcliffe... shouldn't be too bad. And I think everyone could do with the rest."

Shale snorted. "_I _don't need rest." The very idea was insulting, but she'd noticed even the warrior was looking tired. "Though I suppose you're right about everyone else."

It nodded and let out a sigh. "I should probably get some sleep myself. Thank you for the company." With that, the young mage turned back towards its tent.

Shale watched it disappear into the flimsy structure and considered. She still wasn't used to a mage caring about, well, anything besides itself, really. The swamp witch wasn't at all warm, and even the older mage kept its distance. But the young one... Shale smiled to herself. _The young one is not so bad_.

* * *

By the time they reached the castle's courtyard, Valene was barely stifling her yawns. She'd hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning as nerves twisted her stomach into knots. She couldn't keep the possibility of the Arl's death from her head and the few times she had started to drift, her dreams had been filled with darkspawn whispers. The village boy they'd sent ahead to the castle had told her the Arl still lived, which had calmed her some, but now she only wanted a bath and a bed. Ever since the night in Lothering she'd felt as though she was being watched by some sinister force, never quite shaking the corruption she'd felt there. The memory churned her stomach and she shook her head to clear it.

"Are you alright, Valene?" Alistair's hand was on her arm as though he expected her to keel over at any moment. She nodded, blinking to clear the fatigue from her eyes. It was almost sunset and she hoped Teagan would allow them to simply rest. She wasn't looking forward to meeting him again, particularly not since Alistair so _very_ casually suggested sharing a room during their stay. She certainly hadn't expected it, and wasn't entirely sure she'd been convincing when she'd begged off with an excuse for sleep. It was true, though more due to the itch between her shoulders that she couldn't shake.

Realizing she'd stopped, Valene quickly picked up her skirts as she started the ascent up the staircase. "I just need a decent night's rest." Alistair frowned at her worriedly. "It's not you, it's-"

The doors to the castle burst open and Teagan strolled through, looking happy to see all of them. "It's so good to see you!" He bowed formally before approaching the party. "Do you bring good news?" There was the slightest hint of worry in his eyes, but it melted away quickly.

Doing her best to curtsey, Valene nodded. "Yes, we've found out the village where Genitivi thinks the Ashes are, a tiny thing called Haven, south and west of here." Teagan's smile faltered as his eyes scanned the group and found no one new. Answering the question she knew was on his tongue, Valene did her best to keep her voice steady. "He wasn't as his home in Denerim. His assistant was dead, with an impersonator in his stead. It seems the people of Haven don't wish to be found." She'd discussed this at length with Leliana and Zevran, both of them reluctant to simply scale the mountain and see what awaited them. Zevran had volunteered to scout ahead, with Leliana adding to the offer moments later. Valene knew _something_ was going on between the two, but she wasn't entirely sure what. There seemed to be a game of sorts, each one trying to out-stealth the other by stealing weapons, clothes or various personal effects from the other, and she'd even heard a whispered argument over tents.

The bann's eyes slid to Alistair, fixing on the place where his hand met her arm. "How far away is Haven?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Valene started up the steps again, hoping they could at least take the conversation inside. The weather had been growing cold and wet, and the rain that had fallen in late morning meant every last one of them was damp. "If we were travelling on the highway, I'd say a week, maybe a day or two more. It appears to be in the Frostbacks and given the fact it's on no map I've come across, I doubt the road there will be well-kept. I'd like to look over any of the maps you have here, if I could."

Teagan turned a smile to her. "Of course, my lady. I could assist your now, or-"

Raising a hand Valene shook her head. "Thank you, but I'd rather put that off until tomorrow." They were at the castle door now, and while she wanted to just walk in, it still felt awkward. Alistair was still touching her, hovering by her side as if Teagan would swoop in and steal her at any moment. Cursing both of them, she put on a tired smile, hoping it would remind the bann they'd been on the road for weeks.

It seemed to work, and he led them in, chatting animatedly about what he'd been doing to ready Redcliffe's forces, including sending missives to his own bannorn with orders to recruit men and send them to the castle for training. Nodding and commenting when necessary, Valene was relieved to know Connor was still safe and the gathering of forces had begun. _Maybe the visit won't be so bad after all._

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* * *

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"Andraste's _ass_." Morrigan's eyebrows jumped at the other mage's curse. She didn't care about the coarseness of language, but Valene was not one to throw rough words around.

Attempting to keep the smile from her face, Morrigan closed the book she'd been reading. It was an old one, detailing the travels of some long-dead adventurer into the Korcari Wilds. She had been entirely unsurprised to find tales of the Chasind practices, but the adventurer claimed to have met her mother. While Morrigan didn't doubt many unknowing men had met her mother, she doubted many had escaped alive. "What is it now?"

The other woman looked up from behind the pile of maps that littered the desk. Morrigan could only see her eyes, but she knew well the frown that went along with the furrowed brow. "It will take us _ages_ to get up that bloody mountain. If these maps are any indication, we'll be going up a pace for every two or three we take forward. Camping will be difficult and it's likely we'll have to stop whenever we can find an adequate spot. There's also mention of..." Valene trailed off, rustling through the pile of parchment before she drew a particularly yellowed one. "Ah, here it is. 'There were large numbers of bears and wolves, as well as mountain cats the size of mabari. The cats were particularly hard to see and had no qualms of attempting attacks in broad daylight.' It goes on to detail rockslides, and a blizzard that happened only a month after high summer."

Morrigan could see the color rising as the woman's forehead began to turn red. It _did_ sound like it would be a decidedly unpleasant trip. If any wolves and bears still lingered, Morrigan imagined at least some of them would be tainted by now, making them even more formidable, if detectable to the two Wardens. "Does this mean we are not going to scurry after the ashes of some long-dead lunatic after all?"

Valene glared at Morrigan, but the sorceress kept her face smooth. "No, it means I'm going to be very, very cross if the Ashes are not there. And even more cross if they don't work." The other woman sighed and sat back, running a hand through her tousled brown hair. "It's just such a bloody mess. If we have to fight our way up a mountain for over a week, we'll be exhausted by the time we reach Haven, and I doubt we'll get a warm welcome. I don't want to take more time than necessary, either – we still have to recruit the Dalish, if we can even find them."

Setting the book down, Morrigan walked around the desk to peer over Valene's shoulder. The two detailed maps were old enough to be faded and a bit torn, but she could see what Valene meant. The path doubled back on itself constantly, the easiest way to handle such a steep climb, but it made for slow, dangerous travel. Frowning, Morrigan tilted her head and thought. After a while she nodded slowly to herself. "Well, I cannot make the path itself easier, but I can at least set webs for the creatures." Valene glanced up at her. "Much as I did when we traveled to Lothering. We shall have to sleep in very tight quarters, but I doubt you and Alistair will have a problem with that." Smirking, she couldn't help but hint at a secret she was certain only she and Shale knew. "Nor will Zevran and Leliana."

Valene's eyes widened and Morrigan couldn't help laughing. They'd kept it well out of the eyes of the others, but Morrigan didn't always sleep in a tent. Nor did she spend every night in human form. As the surprise wore off, Valene began to smile. "I suspected something, but... really?"

Unused to gossiping, Morrigan tried to keep the pleasure from her voice. "Oh yes, they have been_ very_ furtive about it. Even with each other." The last was the oddest part to the whole thing, as if they were trying very hard to not be found by the other. She supposed it was a rogue thing, but it was all foolishness to her.

"Ladies, I hope I'm not interrupting anything." The smile immediately dropped from Morrigan's face and she could have sworn Valene paled. It was that nobleman, the Arl's brother. Even though the man hadn't objected to harboring an apostate, Morrigan did _not_ like him. He looked at Valene as if she were a particularly useful piece in a game of strategy and she found it distasteful.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Morrigan straightened. "I think I shall go to my quarters and continue reading." There was a tiny, muffled cry from the other woman, so low and short Morrigan was certain she'd imagined it. _Let _her_ deal with the man._ Snatching the book from her former chair, she passed the nobleman without a second glance. She was going to her room and locking the door. _With _both_ locks._

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* * *

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Suppressing a wince as Morrigan strode from the room, Valene stood up behind the desk, bowing slightly. "Bann Teagan." She'd remained formal at the short, quiet dinner last night and hoped the formality would express what she very much wished to avoid saying aloud.

Nothing changed in his eyes, however, and he was all smiles as he walked towards her, inclining his head once he reached the desk. "Please, if I am to call you Valene, you could at least return the favor. Have you found anything useful?"

Trying to find a protest, but failing, Valene nodded and sat down. "The maps and accounts are few, but detailed where they exist. The travel will be... difficult, and we'll need to leave soon if we expect to make good time before the snow begins to fall."

Teagan pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning over the map. He gestured to the yellowed piece of parchment that lay on top. "May I?" At a slight nod he plucked the map up and began to study. His smile dropped off his face and was soon replaced by a scowl. "You're not _seriously_ considering doing this in winter, are you?"

Valene let out a slow breath. "I plan to leave in two days' time. If we push until the snow falls, we should make it to Haven before there's too much snow on the ground. Waiting puts the Arl's life in jeopardy and I imagine travel would be worse with the spring thaw." She'd made up her mind as soon as she'd calculated the time needed for poor travel. It would be another long walk, but this time they wouldn't be travelling the paved highway with villages or farmsteads providing easy access to fresh provisions. They'd have to pack enough food to sustain them for the entire trip, which would mean poor rations unless Haven proved to be helpful. It was doubtful, and she didn't wish to be unprepared. She'd already made a list of additional equipment and hoped they could find what they needed on such short notice. Winter boots, heavy cloaks, additional blankets and sturdy gloves. _And I need to get something reasonably warm for Morrigan_. She didn't know how the other woman could stand to be half-exposed, especially with the cold autumn rains that had plagued them since Denerim.

"Valene, this is absolute madness. Getting there alone will take a week? Two?" Teagan was eyeing her as warily as if she'd turned into an abomination. When she held up three fingers, he let out an exasperated sigh. She was fairly certain they could make the journey in two and a half weeks, but she'd plan for three. Previous travel had made her cautious when it came to expecting things to go as planned. "Eamon is my brother, but is his life really worth that of so many?"

She honestly wasn't concerned about anyone dying, not with two skilled healers and their previous experience in combat. She knew the strengths and weaknesses of those she travelled with, and while Haven might prove a challenge, it shouldn't be deadly. So long as they were careful getting there. "We need the Arl to aid us against Loghain. You said the other Teryn had been killed and Eamon is the only Arl who will be willing to lead open rebellion against Loghain. If we depose him, we can focus on the Blight, and _that_ is why I'm willing to risk my life." The last word was said with a fist banging on the table and Valene realized she had risen to her feet.

Teagan was staring at her quietly, eyes considering. She stayed where she was, unwilling to move from her position. It was with reluctance that Teagan nodded. "Very well." His voice was soft and the earlier confidence was gone. "Let the seneschal know what you require. I'm sure anyone in the village will be happy to help you meet your needs for such a journey." Teagan got up as if to leave, and even half-turned towards the study door before pausing. "Have you considered the offer I made last time?"

Staring at his back, Valene bit back a sigh. She'd hoped to avoid this. "I did consider it, but I cannot accept now or any time." The last brought Teagan to face her again. There was surprise in his expression, as well as hurt. "Alistair and I have... reconciled." _And shared a bed_. "I mean to see him on the throne, but I know I can't be his wife. With him as king, I'll be the last Grey Warden in Ferelden. It will be my duty to work to rebuild the order." Valene had thought of what Alistair as king meant _now_, but she could not shake the belief that he belonged there. He was King Maric's son, and more than that, he'd shown the ability to make a decision that went against personal feelings for the greater good. In Denerim she'd half-expected to wake up to Wynne's healing, danger be damned, simply because she'd been injured. _But he didn't send for her, and if he can apply that sort of thought as king, Ferelden will be lucky to have him_. She knew what it would mean for him to be king, that he'd have to find a woman who was noble, not a mage, and untainted if he wished to have an heir and the support of the bannorn. She would have to prove herself in other ways, ways that would take her away from him. The thought tugged at her heart, but that was a worry for another day.

Teagan's mouth hardened. "That's not fair to you."

"It's not fair to him either, Teagan." She did, in fact, feel guilty about what awaited Alistair once she made him king. With any luck he'd find someone understanding, someone he wouldn't mind sharing a bed with. Her stomach churned and she closed her eyes, trying to fill her head with pleasant memories in an attempt to quash the disturbing images that had risen.

Bootsteps sounded and Valene opened her eyes again. Teagan was gone and she was alone. She sat for several minutes, thinking, trying to find a way to convince herself that Alistair didn't _have_ to be king, but she was only fooling herself. It was the right thing to do and she was going to do it, no matter the price.


	28. Chapter 27

_AN: Sorry for another long break, I've been trying to get back into a non-technical writing mode. I've got another chapter started and a definite outline for the one afterwards. Thank you for your patience and continued support!_

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With every step he took, Sten felt the shame of following a coward gnaw at his dignity. The _kadan_ had shown him mercy, returned his sword and given him purpose once more, but now... They were four days from Redcliffe, heading west, _away_ from the horde of darkspawn. The day was growing dark, cut short by the looming mountains, though the Warden pressed as long as it remained safe.

The line in front of him halted, and Sten let out a grunt as Valene spoke. "We camp here." There was a small cove, protected by high, steep cliffs with only one easy entrance. Anything that might attempt to attack them would find a difficult fight.

The others immediately huddled around Shale to seek out tents. Sten had somehow found himself stuck with Wynne, but she kept enough to herself he did not mind _too_ much. That was not his problem, however, and he strode up to Valene. "We must speak."

Unlike the others in the group, the _kadan_ did not seem to be flustered by his shortness with words. She nodded as she turned, marching off to an area where the ground was rocky and uneven, a poor spot for pitching tents. They would not be interrupted.

Once alone, she faced him, with a calm expression and tired eyes. "Yes?"

Crossing his arms, Sten stared the mage down. "I do not run away from a battle."

She blinked once. "Has there been a time when we've avoided trouble instead of killing it?" She had a point. Despite being a woman _and_ a mage, she was remarkably cool when it came time to fight.

Shaking his head to clear it, Sten gritted his teeth. "We are avoiding battle now. We are heading away from the archdemon for nothing."

The mage closed her eyes and let out a sigh. "So you said before we even left. And I told _you_ that we have a good reason to be here. We need the Arl well."

"_Pashaara_. This is nothing but myth and fairytale. It is pointless." He'd had enough of the strange, nonsensical religion that claimed there was some great and powerful man who ignored them all, and a dead woman who sounded like she'd been little more than a crazed zealot.

The mage's hands clenched into fists as if she were about to strike him. "Seeking a cure for the only man capable of bringing Ferelden to the side of the Wardens is _not_ pointless. Not a week out of Lothering you stood and interrogated me, asking how I would defeat the Archdemon, requiring a strategy from me. Right now the strategy is finding the Ashes and seeing if they work. If they do not, then we do what we must without the Arl, but for now there _is_ hope."

The temptation to leave was great, but he could not deny the debt he owed the woman. He stared her down, waiting for her to flinch as so many other humans did. She did nothing but grow more at ease. Before long, _his_ spine was itching with the desire to look away. With a reluctant grunt, Sten nodded. "Very well."

It was not entirely satisfying, but it would serve for now. Trusting one among the _bas_, even one worthy of being called _kadan_, was still strange. She had done much, but she had yet to prove herself. If this wild quest failed, Sten would return to the _Arishok_ without a second thought. If _she _failed, his debt would be paid.

* * *

The appearance of wooden steps after more than a week of dirt and rock was so sudden Valene promptly tripped and fell. She landed hard on her hands and knees, the ground frosty and hard, but mostly free of snow. They couldn't be more than half a day into their travel, though the night before had been difficult for almost everyone. The snow had started in earnest, but most had been blown away with the wind. It had made for a miserable night, even with the warmth of Alistair, and she was once again grateful she'd left her robes behind. She'd forced Morrigan and Wynne into leather armor and heavy wool padding as well. The leather wasn't very thick, but with the padding it was warm, and robes would have been nothing but trouble with the steep climb. The others had taken what heavy padding they could, and Zev was bundled up in so many layers Valene had started to wonder how he managed to move.

Alistair was at her side, helping her up as she brushed the bits of dirt and grit on her thighs. The others were quiet and on edge, and Zev and Sten both had their weapons drawn. Leliana was scouting ahead as best she could, but the mountain pass was too steep to find routes around the main path. Valene couldn't blame everyone's disquiet – they writings had proven accurate in regards to wolves, though she imagined bears would have been out any other time of year. They'd run into two packs, both small, but the pack of six had been tainted and more vicious. Thankfully, darkspawn had been very few, and though she and Alistair could sense a few at the edges of their abilities, there were no large masses.

Raising her eyes to the sky, Valene squinted, trying to find any brightness in the clouds that might tell her the time of day. There was nothing but a solid ceiling of grey clouds, though, and she had to rely on instinct. At a guess, they'd travelled four hours, maybe five. Stopping for a rest would not be unwelcome. "We wait here until Leliana returns." The others nodded and Oghren grumbled something about ale. Shale nodded towards Valene before turning to guard the path they'd travelled. They _still_ hadn't seen any of the big cats mentioned in the writings, but with any luck, those were hunting elsewhere.

* * *

Alistair eyed the village warily. It was so quiet, and even though it was nearing time for the evening meal, no smoke rose from the chimneys and no children played in the last bits of light. It was pretty enough, with fir trees scattered here and there, and a small, crystal clear lake on the far side of the village green, but something felt unsettling. _Maybe it's the man standing guard even though the village is over two weeks away from anything resembling civilization_. The man had been immediately hostile and suspicious, but Valene was doing her best to present all of them as having only good intentions. He wasn't entirely sure it could be convincing, even if they _weren't_ all armed and armored, but she was giving it a good try.

Just as Valene seemed to run out of options, the gruff man swept his eyes over the group and gave a grunt. "You can restock at the store if you wish, but then you need to be on your way."

Alistair tried to hide a smile. The group _did_ look a mess. Oghren had managed to drop a piece of meat in one of Morrigan's leather boots before going to bed, and they'd all woken up to her irate yelling. The boot was barely salvageable, as some sort of animal had torn it apart to get at the meat inside. She'd had to spend the last three mornings carefully wrapping the tattered leather into something that vaguely resembled a boot. Oghren had gotten a rather large bolt of electricity to his rump, and she'd waited until he'd finished putting his armor on as well. The dwarf had stayed well-clear of Morrigan since then, and she'd looked supremely smug anytime she inconvenienced him. On top of that incident, their cloaks were in general disrepair with patches and holes in every one of them. He still couldn't believe they'd been such a short time in traveling – all of them felt and looked as though they'd been on the road with no rest for months. _It's not too far off from the truth, though, is it?_ After so long a journey just to find the village, it was a relief to know it existed. As skeptical as the others may be about the Urn, Alistair held hope.

* * *

Frowning at Valene, Wynne shook her head but didn't protest. The Warden was proving obnoxiously stubborn, insisting on healing her own wounds whenever possible. While Wynne didn't deny being exhausted, she could see the overuse of magic taking its toll on the young woman. The decision for Wynne to refrain from combat had been a wise one, but Valene took no such precautions, stepping smoothly into her role as a warrior-mage any time the group was threatened. For the first time since joining with the Warden, Wynne found herself missing Morrigan. The apostate was with Brother Genitivi, making sure he didn't kill himself or run into anyone dangerous, but the woman's skill at healing, while nowhere near her own, was sorely missed.

Bending down over Alistair, Wynne let the familiar power of magic fill her before she poured it into the young man. He'd taken an axe to the leg, and while the plate he wore had taken most of the blow, the bone was broken. Frowning as she knit the bone back together, she infused the limb with as much strength as she could spare for the moment. While even deep cuts would only remain tender, broken bones could be weak, and too much force could cause it to fracture again. If their current progress were any indication, this old ruin held yet more violently crazed followers of Andraste. The fighters compared only to Oghren in their way of fighting, but while his was driven by rage, theirs was driven by something more – they paid no heed to wounds unless killed or harmed to such an extent they could no longer function. The thought of what could cause that sent a chill down her spine and she was grateful she didn't have to face them head on.

Standing up, Wynne held out a hand to Alistair. "The leg is healed, but I'd advise favoring it while we walk."

He grasped her hand and rose to his feet, shaking the leg experimentally. "Hey, it feels great!" Wynne raised an eyebrow and Alistair flashed a charming smile. "Not that I could ever doubt you, dear lady."

Shaking her head with a soft laugh, Wynne smiled. "I'm glad you have such confidence in my abilities."

There was a light tap on her arm and Wynne turned. Valene was holding out a vial of lyrium, the liquid's blue glow making the young woman's hand appear as though it were made of ice. Sighing softly, Wynne took the small glass container and downed its contents in a swift gulp. Even though she'd used it before, the sensation it sent from down her throat was unsettling. It was a strange feeling, almost electric, and it churned her stomach even as she felt her body absorb the power.

A look at the other mage's eyes revealed the slight bluish glow of recent lyrium consumption. Furrowing her brow, Wynne faced the young woman. "That's your third vial since we've arrived. If you have too much too fast-"

Valene nodded as if exasperated. "I can harm my mind. I know Wynne, but what _choice_ do I have?" The other woman craned her head to look around the small stone room. "The most we can do is rest for half an hour here. I don't want to be surprised by anyone... unpleasant."

With a low grunt, Wynne just inclined her head. What they really needed was a good night's rest, even if it wasn't practical right now. She wasn't going to argue, though – the eventual goal drove her, and Valene didn't ask things of the others that she herself didn't do. Both of the Wardens seemed to fare better when taxed – Alistair looked the most rested of them all, while even the qunari was beginning to look worn out.

Slinging her pack off of her back, Wynne picked a spot on the floor that was mostly free of blood and rubble, set her pack down and rested her head. She would not squander the opportunity to catch a few moments of sleep.

* * *

Valene wanted nothing more than to empty her stomach. Between fatigue, the stench of charred flesh and the overwhelming presence of decay, she was barely holding in the meager contents of her belly. Her head felt like an overripe melon, ready to burst at the slightest touch, and her vision was beginning to blur, but whether it was from exhaustion or lyrium, she couldn't quite say. The others were resting – the third time since entering the ruins and caverns, but they were finally at the end of it all. She was crouched over the body of a man who had called himself Kolgrim. He'd asked them to defile the Ashes – a suggestion that had spurred her to lash out with words and he'd quickly responded with his sword. He was dead now, his body stiffening in a pool of his own blood.

It was the horn at his belt that had caught her attention. He'd spoke of calling down Andraste in all her glory, and had been absolutely offended by the existence of the Ashes. Drawing her small belt knife, Valene cut the leather strap that connected the horn to his belt. It was splattered with blood on one side, and the other dripped with it, but underneath the gore it was a pearly white, wickedly curved and carved with swirls and lines that mimicked the movement of fire.

"Valene?" The sudden break in the relative silence startled her. Alistair was standing over her, expression worried. "Are you alright?"

Standing up from her crouch, Valene did her best to ignore the way her head spun, managing to stumble only a little. "I think I just need some sleep. What about you?" She knew what the answer would be – or at least what it _should_ be. They'd run into more mages in the ruins than they had since their entire time after leaving the Tower. She'd almost forgotten Alistair had been trained as a Templar until she saw him illuminated in a pure white light and a mage had dropped dead moments later. It had set her on edge, especially after she'd caught the fringe of one particular move that drained magic. The sudden disappearance of her power had almost killed her when the spell she'd readied for the charging drake had dissipated. It was sheer dumb luck she'd been surprised enough to stumble over a rock, the drake's lunging bite missing her by less than a hand width. She'd still caught enough of the flame to char off part of her leg armor and the heat had blistered her skin. It hadn't been serious enough to heal and she felt dueling urges to scratch the burned area or plunge it into a bank of snow.

Nodding absently, Alistair eyed the horn in her hand. "Any idea what that does?"

Valene held the horn out to him and let him take it. As his fingers traced patterns over the intricate lines, she let out a worried sigh. "Between his rantings," she gestured to Kolgrim, "the eggs, the carvings, and the drakes, what do _you_ think it does?"

Lips forming into a pout, Alistair looked at her with sad, disappointed eyes. "Dragon?"

Closing her eyes and sighing, she nodded once. "Dragon."


	29. Chapter 28

_AN: I'll be out of town this weekend, but I'll try and get another chapter up before I leave. If it looks like that won't happen, I'll finish up the side piece that fits in Chapter 25_._  
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Zevran rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch out the stiffness that came from sleeping in a freezing cave after a full day of fighting. Leliana was peering out the cave's mouth into the bright light of morning. He'd been lucky enough to purchase some smallclothes from Haven's shopkeeper before they'd killed him, and he'd even let the corpse keep the money. Leliana had stolen most of his on the way back from Denerim, hiding them only Maker knew where. She'd swiped the few he'd managed to get in Redcliffe as well, leaving him in the rather uncomfortable situation of having to either go without smallclothes or go with cold, damp smallclothes. Either way had caused terrible chafing and he was beginning to wonder if bedding her had been a mistake. She turned and smiled mischievously, flashing those pale blue eyes and he couldn't help grinning to himself. _Even if it is a mistake, it is a deliciously _lovely_ mistake._

"See anything interesting out there?" As much as he didn't mind an early start, he wasn't eager to readjust his eyes to sunlight after so long in the dim light of the cave.

Walking with a grace that could only belong to a fellow killer, Leliana nodded, her tousled red hair catching a stray snippet of sunshine. "More ruins, but I think I saw a door on the other side of the bridge." There was an excited undertone to her voice – Zev knew just how devote she was when it came to Andraste and the Maker, and she had absolute faith they would find the Ashes. He was a bit more skeptical, but no less intrigued by such an idea.

The bard gestured to two sleeping forms on the floor, one blonde, the other brunette. "Do you think we should wake them?"

Zev pursed his lips, considering. The two were curled up against one another for shared warmth, one blanket on the stone floor, the other barely covering both of them. Usually any sort of conversation would wake Valene up, but this morning she hadn't even stirred. She'd pushed them hard since leaving Redcliffe, and even harder since they arrived in the ghastly little village of Haven, yet leaving herself to be the last to sleep and the first to wake, if one didn't count the tireless Shale. The caves had taxed her far beyond anything he had encountered with her, even the Dead Trenches. Though no one had commented on the crazed men and women they'd encountered, he knew the sort of rituals used to acquire the skills these people had – they'd seen a bloody altar in a house, almost identical to ones the Crows used to acquire unnatural talents. Plain human blood worked well, but if they had access to the blood of something powerful – mages, drakes, dragons – the effects would be much more potent. He had a sinking feeling it was the latter – they'd destroyed dozens of eggs, some with tiny, half-formed dragons, and they'd fought their fair share of young dragons, as well as drakes, the comparatively small adult male dragons. His particular cell of Crows had been in close contact with a Nevarran dragon hunter who acquired drake's blood when it was necessary – blood from a full-grown dragon was too pricey for all but the cells owned by members of the Antivan imperial family. If they had a full-grown dragon to face, a little more sleep may be in order for the Wardens.

Taking Leliana's hand in his, he kissed her fingertips lightly, drawing a delighted giggle from the bard. "I think we should let them rest a while." Gesturing towards the tangle of caverns and ruins they'd fought through the day before, Zev grinned. "Though I believe we left behind several things of value that are just begging to be taken. What say you?"

The redhead's sudden trot towards the cavern was an answer and he turned to follow. Whatever the zealots had done to increase their abilities in battle, they had also been quite wealthy. _It would be a shame to see it go to waste._

_

* * *

_

Frowning at the limping man, Morrigan did her best to avoid grinding her teeth. The idiot had refused to stay put, insisting on stumbling around to carvings, jotting them down on scraps of parchment she'd thrust at him, an old piece of charcoal serving for his writing tool. After scrawling until it was too dark for him to see; she'd ignored his pleas for her to light a torch and insisted they find somewhere to sleep for the night. She'd been pleased to find beds down one of the side halls, rough as they were, and for all of the holy man's protestation at sleeping in a bed that he had to push a corpse off of, he'd slept well. She'd grudgingly shared her food with him, even healing the man as much as she could, considering the half-healed damage would be impossible to fully treat unless the bones were re-broken and set properly. She didn't like tending to someone so blindly devoted to the fool Maker, but Valene had asked her to keep him alive.

A low wince brought Morrigan's attention back to Genitivi. He'd banged his bad ankle and was grimacing in pain. Sighing with exasperation, Morrigan reached out with magic as she strode towards the man, checking to see if he'd done anything more serious than bruise the half-mangled limb. Finding him alright, she nodded with satisfaction. "I am not healing that. You have been acting like a bloody fool, wandering around on that foot. If you keep this up it will have to come off, you know." She hated agreeing with Wynne, but it was true – damage that severe, healed with no rest, would only grow worse in time."

The holy man opened his mouth to speak, but other voices, ringing in the tunnel, stopped him. She couldn't make out the words, but the voices were angry. Grabbing Genitivi by an arm, she quickly dragged him to a small storage room, shutting the door behind them as quietly as she could. The voices outside the door grew louder, and a woman's rose about it all. "See? They have slaughtered our brothers and sisters! Though they now rest in the forgiveness of Blessed Andraste, this sin cannot go unpunished!"

Genitivi let out a small gasp, drawing a glare from Morrigan. Grabbing her kerchief from her pocket, she stuffed it in the man's mouth, his eyes widening even though he said nothing. "Hush, Sifa. If they're not already dead, they will have to come through the main hall. We will wait there." The man who spoke sounded young, almost a child, but she could hear murmurs of agreement before slow armored footsteps faded from hearing

Morrigan stayed still and quiet for several minutes before daring to peer out into the room. It was empty, the dead taken away. Genitivi touched her shoulder lightly and she flinched. "Are they gone?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Snatching the now-damp kerchief from his hand, she huffed loudly. "Were your eyes also harmed and your vision impaired? What does it look like?"

The man just held up his hands and began limping to the bed he'd slept in the night before, pulling out his the stack of mismatched papers that comprised his notes. He began scratching away again, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Shaking her head in frustration, Morrigan crossed her arms and stood near the doorway, out of view of the hall, but close enough to catch the sounds of someone's approach. If they came back, she would be ready.

* * *

Scrambling to her feet, Valene scuttled just out of reach of the dragon's wicked claws. It was focused on her now, incensed by the blizzard she'd cast. It had moved away from the flurry of snow and ice, and now the storm was just a hazard for anyone unlucky enough to get caught in it. A deafening roar made her cringe, but the dragon whirled on its new attackers as Sten and Oghren both hacked at its tail and hindquarters. A hand seized her roughly, dragging her away from the animal. She stumbled as she followed, barely keeping pace, and she nearly dropped her staff twice. Zev's annoyed Antivan lilt met her ears. "'Look, it doesn't see us, let's just continue,' I said. 'No, we shouldn't leave it here, it could kill someone,' you said." The elf stopped suddenly and she almost fell again with the abrupt halt. "It's going to kill _you,_ if you are not more careful."

Without another word, Zevran jumped back into the fray, darting to the other side of the dragon to join Alistair while its head was occupied with the dwarf and qunari. An arrow caught the creature in the eye and the great head reared back with a cry of pain. Oghren drove in, burying his axe at the base of the dragon's neck with as much force as he could. Alistair lunged forward with an assault, crippling the beast's right foreleg. Valene inched closer, lowering the head of her staff as she formed the magic she held into a spell.

Darting forward as quickly as she could, Valene let out a blast of ice aimed squarely at the dragon's chest. She narrowly missed Oghren, the head of his axe quickly icing over, but the dragon had been weakened enough for the spell to have some effect. The thick layer of ice that coated the dragon began to crack as first a shoulder, and then the neck began to move slowly, but the few seconds of respite were all the others needed.

As they hacked away with their blades, Valene couldn't suppress the smile that formed on her face. A loud crack and a shower of icy shards announced the dragon's freedom from all of the ice, and, ignoring the blades that sank into its scaly skin, the dragon turned its head towards her and opened its mouth, a deep rumble sounding its throat. Eyes widening, Valene turned and ran, yelling as loud as she could. "Leliana, get _down!_"

The bard dove behind a rock, but Valene was too far away. Heat seared her back, the leather armor quickly catching fire. Dropping to the snow covered ground, Valene let out a shriek as she felt it begin to sear through the armor and padding. The leg left bare by the drake's fire was in agony, but the breath of fire didn't last long. Forcing herself to roll over into the cold snow, Valene's mouth dropped open as Alistair met her eyes. He'd managed to climb on the thing's back, and another blow to the neck from Oghren's axe had been her saving grace. Alistair was creeping along the neck as the dragon tried to flail, and when he finally reached the head he drove his sword into its skull. After a few final twitches the beast lay still.

Raising her eyes to the sky, Valene let out a slow breath, trying to focus on anything but the pain in her back. She heard Leliana call for Wynne and closed her eyes in thanks. She'd cheated death twice, and that was more than she could ask for on any day.

Alistair came into her vision before Wynne did, helm under his arm, his face the only thing not coated in blood and char. His mouth twitched slightly and he shook his head. "I have a new rule for you." She raised her eyebrows, but didn't dare move enough to protest properly. The snow had just started to numb the back of her neck. "No more wearing leather armor." He ran his eyes over her quickly. "Not that there's much left."

"Why's that?" She had to admit her interest was piqued. If it wasn't for her armor, she'd likely be _dead_.

Crouching besides her, Alistair pulled off a gauntlet and ran a finger down the side of her face. "You always get hurt in it." The soft look on his face worked its way into a grin. "That, or you're very, very bad at moving in it and happen to place yourself in the worst possible situation to catch a blade - or fire."

Valene opened her mouth a moment before closing again. She'd taken an arrow when Zevran tried to kill her, nearly bled out in Denerim and the entire fight through the caverns had been one injury after another. Whatever the reason, the leather armor certainly didn't seem to bring her any luck.

"Move!" Wynne came out of nowhere, voice full of annoyance, mage's staff proding Alistair squarely in the chest. Dropping to her knees with little fuss, the older mage began to mutter something about "foolhardy" while unceremoniously slicing the few remaining ties that held Valene's leather breastplate with the back piece. Casting aside the final intact piece of armor, she placed gentle finger tips on Valene's shoulder. "Roll over, dear, I'll take care of it." She was all soothing tones and smiles now, gesturing to Valene without touching anything that might be burnt.

Complying with no small effort and a reminder of her charred back, Valene rested her forehead against the cold snow and took a deep breath. The warmth of healing magic flowed into her, dissipating the pain until Valene felt only a slight itch. Suppressing the urge to shiver, the attempts to remain still were thwarted as Wynne began to peel _something_ off of her back in short, sharp little tugs while the magic hummed inside her. It was disconcerting, and whatever it was seemed intent on taking the her back with it. "Sweet Maker, Wynne, what are you _doing?_"

There was a long silence and a few more tugs before Wynne cleared her throat and answered. "Peeling."

Suppressing an annoyed grunt, Valene took a slow breath. "Peeling _what?_"

"Your skin, mostly. I have to take off what's beyond repair before healing." Closing her eyes as Wynne tugged again, Valene tried not to sigh. They were going to be here a while.

* * *

Alistair felt his voice catch in his throat. Duncan's death was months past, but the guilt had rushed back in at the Guardian's question. He _did_ wonder if he could have shielded Duncan, if he could have saved him – everything would be better, they could have petitioned other Wardens for help. Even if he would have died instead, it would have been worth it. Glancing at Valene he could see her gaze fixed firmly on the Guardian and he wondered if she felt the same thing. He'd shared his doubts with her before, his regrets, but every time she simply responded that it would have been impossible, and the way things had happened were the best Ferelden could have hoped for, given Loghain's betrayal. "I... Yes. I do wonder if-"

With one quick movement, Valene stepped between Alistair and the Guardian, her arms crossing over her chest. "Stop it." The Guardian raised his eyebrows and swept his gaze over the other two. The Guardian had agreed to allow only four through, and Leliana and Wynne were the ones chosen. He had already queried them, as well as Valene, his words bringing harsh realizations or painful memories to all of them.

"The others have answered, and so must he." The Guardian's voice was cool, devoid of emotion, but his eyes were set on Valene, questioning and appraising.

Letting out a sound of disgust, Valene shook her head. "You bring up what all of us fear or think, and to what purpose? If you wanted to remind us of indecision or worries in our lives, then you have succeeded. We have made mistakes, we have concerns. If you cannot discern our worthiness, then tell us."

It was an odd sight – Valene in nothing more than simple pants and over-sized tunic, both coming from the packs of others. They had left the bulk of their pack contents with Morrigan and Genitivi and he could see her shiver in the cold, but here she stood, facing down a fully armored... well, it wasn't really a man, but the armor and weapon looked real enough. He wasn't sure if it was the mountain or the desire to be _done_ with this whole endeavor that seemed to be driving her a bit mad. She'd been unusually rash, quick to fight and slow to talk, ever since entering the ruins. _Not that many people _wanted_ to talk_.

With a slight sigh – the first sign of any human emotion from the thing – the Guardian nodded. "You are worthy to enter the Gauntlet." The door that led deeper into the mountain unlocked with a click and slowly swung open, as if by magic. _It probably _is _magic, now that I think about it_. Valene slightly inclined her head to the Guardian before stepping around him. The room ahead was dark, the only light a faint eerie blue glow. Watching Leliana and Wynne follow, Alistair took one last look at the Guardian before he stepped in. The Gauntlet awaited.


	30. Chapter 29

The specter of Wynne disappeared with a final slash of his blade. Alistair wheeled, taking in the scene before him. Valene was finishing off his own specter, studded as it was with Leliana's arrows, the transparent form shattering into shards of ice that disappeared before they hit the floor. The only two left to fight were Valene's spirit twin and Leliana's ghost. Leliana faced her own specter, now, each one drawing and firing as quickly as the other, but the imitation seemed to be losing, the spirit Leliana not quite matching the pace of the bard. Valene's specter turned to her, and the mage responded as well, each facing the other with that oh-so-familiar look of concentration. Both the mage and her incorporeal twin called spells, Valene's staff dancing with electricity, the other's turning an icy blue. Each one poised to attack.

They released as one, purple lightning embracing the transparent figure even as it let loose a stream of icy cold. The blast hit Valene full force, ice immediately forming along her skin. Alistair rushed towards the mage's specter, calling on all of his concentration. Flinging his arms back he let the power fill him, blinding white light enveloping him and he held it, letting it gather until he could stand no more. With a loud cry he flung the power at the faint imitation of his fellow Warden, his lover, knocking the woman's form to the ground. He rushed forward, sword high and brought it down with a slash, closing his eyes once his sword made contact, the blade sinking in as if it were real flesh and bone. It was too much to take.

A loud explosion signaled Valene's recovery and the end of Leliana's twin, and the only sound after that was the heavy panting of exertion. Valene rushed over to the corner where Wynne lay, kneeling beside the limp body of the mage. His own twin had taken her out with a smiting, and while it _shouldn't_ kill a mage of Wynne's power and skill, at her age it may have stopped her heart.

Turning away from the spot where the body of Valene's specter should have lain, he forced himself to check on Leliana. The bard was bleeding from more than one wound, though from the look of things nothing vital had been hit. He knelt down next to her, applying pressure to the largest wounds while he waited for Valene or Wynne to help. An overwhelming sense of responsibility engulfed him. He knew that if the Ashes worked, Eamon would be the best man to unite the bannorn, but the insistence to save him, to save his family, had been Alistair's. _If Wynne hadn't been with us..._ His stomach churned as he ticked off who would likely be dead by now. Leliana had taken an axe to the chest partway through the caverns, Sten had nearly lost limbs twice, Oghren had a crushed, mangled hand after a nasty bite from a drake, and Zevran had taken a serious wound across his abdomen the day before. He'd taken bad hits himself, and the look in Valene's eyes told him she _had_ taken too much lyrium the day before, whatever her promise to use it moderately, and she'd been injured as much as the rest of them. There was a look in her eyes that mirrored Templars he'd seen who had worsened their lyrium addictions with severe overuse. Valene wasn't to that stage, and as a mage, she could handle much more than a Templar, but lyrium was still poisonous. _If all of this is for nothing, if the Ashes don't work, then we're left with nothing but wasted time. _Alistair forced the thought from his head. He wouldn't punish himself unless they failed. He didn't have the luxury of self-pity.

The familiar glow of healing magic occupied the corner, and he clenched his jaw shut. Valene must have taken even _more_ of it in order to heal Wynne. Encountering so many hostile mages in such a short period of time had brought his Templar instincts back full force, and even yesterday he'd been able to sense when Wynne or Valene was nearing the limit of their magical reserves.

With a loud gasp Wynne sat up suddenly, chest heaving as she took in long, deep breaths. She looked disheveled, but waved Valene away when she tried to help the older mage stand up. Wynne made her way over to Alistair and Leliana, swaying uncertainly with each step. Valene was close on her heels, the healing glow still surrounding her hands, and even if Wynne wouldn't accept assistance, it was obvious Valene wasn't going to pay attention.

Grey eyes, darker than he'd ever seen them, settled on him, and Valene gave the slightest of smiles. He nodded absently, looking away from her. Her hair, once shoulder length, had been severely cut until it barely reached her chin. Some of it had burned when her armor had caught fire; though Wynne said she was lucky to not have her entire head scorched bald. Alistair didn't know how _he_ looked, but if he'd changed as much as Valene seemed to, he had a feeling Eamon wouldn't even recognize him.

* * *

Wynne quietly set her staff on the ground and slipped off her boots. She was still unused to the armor Valene had insisted she wear on the journey, but she couldn't deny it had been useful. After removing the smaller pieces of armor, and few fruitless minutes of fiddling with the breastplate, Leliana approached her, naked as the day she was born. "Would you like some help?"

With a grateful smile, Wynne nodded. "Please, dear. I'm afraid wearing mage robes my entire life has left me rather hopeless with the buckles and ties." As the young woman began to make short work of the fastenings, Wynne turned her eyes to the elaborate ceramic urn that rested at the top of the raised dais. A beautiful carving of Andraste, rendered in soft grey marble and untouched by time, stood, hands cupped as if to receive the Maker's blessing there and then. A sliver of sunlight shone through and illuminated the statue. A line of fire, maintained by an enchantment, separated them from that urn, and if it was _the_ Urn...

Leliana removed the pieces covering Wynne's torso, setting the armor aside carefully. The bard helped Wynne out of the thick wool padding as well, and when she was finally in snug trousers and tunic, she felt the chill of the mountain air fully. Shivering, she eyed Valene, wondering how she managed to not shiver with every moment. Maybe it was her age, but it was _far_ too cold for her tastes.

Bracing herself, Wynne slid the tunic over her head, moving her gaze back to the statue. She'd seen Alistair, back turned to her, skin reddening in embarrassment. Mages had little privacy, even once they became full enchanters, and anxiety over nudity was something which was quickly overcome in the Tower. Leliana showed no signs of embarrassment either, though Wynne was not at all surprised. Worse, was Alistair's relative innocence – even though _everyone_ knew he was not as innocent as he had once been – in addition to being the only male. She was certain had the rest been men, it would have been of little matter, given the nature of barracks, but women were an entirely separate matter.

Finally stripped, Wynne nodded to Valene. The younger mage touched Alistair lightly and he jumped, whipping his head to face the other Warden. She could see the deep red in his cheeks and she promised herself she wouldn't tease the boy.

All of them turned to face the fire. Valene took the first steps, and Wynne could see the tenseness in her body. Her back was still the pink of newly-healed skin, and she could only fervently pray that the Maker would see her pass through the flame unharmed.

Though the flames jumped and licked against the young woman's skin, Valene passed through without harm. The others followed then, and when Wynne passed through, she could feel heat and warmth, but there was no pain, no damage. She almost wanted to linger, the sensation was so pleasant, but the Urn called to her. All of them stepped towards the stairs when the Guardian appeared suddenly, startling all of them.

"All of you have proven to be true pilgrims and disciples of Andraste. Approach the Urn and take a pinch for what you need. Once acquired, you may go in peace." With that, the spirit disappeared, and the fire behind them extinguished.

There was silence for a few moments before Alistair broke the silence. "Does this mean I don't have to be naked anymore?"

Wynne let herself laugh for the first time in weeks, and Leliana joined in. Valene was obviously struggling to keep her composure as she replied. "You can get dressed if you'd like." The young man darted off to his pile of clothes and armor, and Wynne couldn't help admiring the view. There was certainly something to be said about the backsides of young men.

* * *

One of the attackers suddenly froze in blast of ice she didn't remember casting. Hurling a ball of rock at the frozen warrior, Valene watched with satisfaction as the woman shattered. It was then she saw the source of the spell - Morrigan, staff already glowing with another spell. The rest of the party was finishing off the other two cultists, and Valene jogged down the stairs towards the woman, a smile on her face. She'd been worried about what had happened to the other woman when they'd met the group of zealots as they retraced their steps through the caverns, but it appeared she had no reason to fret.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. "Could Alistair not wait until you were alone to get your armor off?"

Valene couldn't help laughing, the release in tension a wonderful change after the past two days. The strange after-effects of the lyrium still lingered, and her head still ached, but for the moment she laughed, it was all forgotten. "For once, he had nothing to do with it. We pestered a dragon, and my armor was a rather thorough casualty of the encounter."

Shaking her head, Morrigan let out a soft sigh. "I suppose that explains your hair as well?" At Valene's nod, the other woman threw up her arms. "I hope you at least found that fool woman's ashes." Running her eyes over the rest of the group, Morrigan pursed her lips. "All of you look as though you've been dragged over a bed of spikes."

Patting the small leather pouch at her belt, Valene nodded. "We found what we came for. It was a... trying journey."

"Coming from you, I would not be at _all _surprised if it meant half of you almost died." Valene flicked her eyes to the side, avoiding the woman's piercing gaze. Morrigan gave a frustrated grunt. "Why did you not send someone else back to tend that fool man? If it was going that poorly, you needed my ability to fight, as well as heal."

Waving her head in dismissal, Valene strode past Morrigan, towards the door leading out of the frigid ruins. "We survived, you survived, and I assume two days wasn't quite enough time for him to truly test your patience."

As Morrigan launched into a detailed explanation of just how much the brother _had_ tested her patience, Valene finally allowed herself to enjoy the satisfaction of a completed task. After a difficult journey, they could take a good rest and head back to Redcliffe. The Arl awaited.

* * *

Haven, once clear of people bent on killing them, was actually quite a cozy little village, its houses well-built to withstand the cold. While the snowstorm wasn't _quite_ a blizzard, it would have made travel difficult, so the group had spent the day scavenging for supplies and warm clothes. The dead had been burned the day before, along with the bloody altars, and the village could almost be called normal. Despite Leliana's protest, Valene had burned the Chantry to the ground, letting it serve as a pyre for the dead who had worshiped there.

It was evening now, and everyone save Shale had gathered in one of the larger houses for dinner. Leliana had found stores of winter vegetables and had even killed a chicken in a sort of thanksgiving and celebration. Morrigan had scoffed at the idea they were led there by the Maker, but she stayed with them all the same. The stew had been delicious, and the first fresh meat they'd had since leaving the main road. Game had been scarce, and the weather had rarely allowed them to cook as they'd travelled up the mountain.

Valene wrapped her cloak tight around herself – the house was warm, but she hadn't been able to get the weeks-long chill out of her bones. The strange after-effects of the lyrium still lingered. She knew she'd taken too much, but she thought she'd hid it relatively well from the others. All of them had treated her as they had before going into the ruins, and the actual discovery of the Ashes had lightened everyone's spirits. All of them, except Alistair.

He was sitting on a bench in the corner, stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. It made her uncomfortable, but her earlier attempts to sit near him had been met by one excuse or another to get up and move. The others were drinking ale found in one of the cellars, Morrigan and Wynne both only sipping at their mugs, but Oghren and Zevran were engaged in a drinking contest, the elf managing to convince the already-drunken dwarf that none of the ale consumed _before_ the contest counted.

The door suddenly banged and Alistair was gone. Valene blinked – she'd only glanced away a few moments. The others hadn't seemed to notice, and Valene decided to follow him out into the cold. The wind was blowing hard, but there was little snow falling now, and she ran to catch up to him. "Alistair?" He didn't stop, and she ran faster, only a few paces behind him now. "Alistair!"

He stopped abruptly and turned so abruptly she nearly ran into him. "What do you want?" His voice was swept away by the wind, and she could barely make out the words.

"Can we talk inside?" She realized she was practically yelling, but it didn't seem to bother him, and he only shrugged before grabbing her hand and leading her to the house they'd shared in awkward silence the night before.

Once they were inside, boots stamped free of snow and cloaks hung to dry, Alistair set to building a fire, something he consistently struggled to do. Sighing impatiently, Valene waited until the fire was full of wood before letting out a thin burst of fire. Alistair jumped back in surprise and faced her with an accusatory look. "You can't go around doing _everything_ with magic, you know."

Avoiding the impulse to tangle a hand in her hair in frustration, Valene took a deep breath. "I know that, Alistair, I've hardly done anything all day, and-"

He cut her off, striding towards her. "You push yourself too much. Do you have any idea what too much lyrium will do to a person?" His hands grabbed her shoulders and he towered over her. "Have you ever _seen_ someone addicted to it?"

Avoiding his gaze, she shook her head. "I've only read about it, but-"

"Reading doesn't do it justice, I saw a Templar who'd peeled half his face off after going without lyrium for a week. Are _you_ going to be any different when we're halfway to Redcliffe and stuck on a narrow path in a mountain filled with bears and wolves?" His chest was heaving now, and she could see the worry in his eyes.

He was right, though – lyrium withdrawals were horrific things, the sort of thing that made even the strongest minds crumble. She wasn't willing to admit she'd felt the urge to take another potion during the day, but she'd refrained. Her vision was still slightly blurry, and the sensation that things were just slightly off kilter was one she couldn't shake. She hadn't meant to take as much as she had, but if she had refrained, she or someone else would very likely be dead. "I'm sorry, Alistair, I swear I only took as much as was necessary, and even _then_ I know it was too much at once."

He relaxed his grip then and shook his head. "You made it necessary – Wynne should have been healing you, she wasn't constantly killing things the way you were." Releasing her completely, Alistair's shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. "I just... I don't want to lose you."

She didn't know if it was the specter of his royal blood that haunted him, or the taxing weeks past, but he looked much older than he actually was. She wanted to promise him they'd always be together, tell him everything would be alright, but she'd only be lying to herself and him. Taking his head in hers, she tried to smile. "I don't want to lose you either, Alistair. I promise, if I start going crazy, I'll let you know."

That earned her a slight smile and he shook his head. "I thought a part of being crazy is not _knowing_ you've lost it."

Laughing softly, Valene nodded. "Well, if it I start speaking gibberish or try to wear my clothes backwards, that will be my own special way of letting you know."

As he wrapped her in a hug, Valene closed her eyes and said a quiet prayer to the Maker. Devout Andrastian or not, she sincerely informed the Maker she'd rather _not_ lose her mind.


	31. Chapter 30

_AN: Summer's been busier than I expected – I will try and get back to a Monday/Thursday posting schedule, but I'll at least post two chapters a week. Thank you for your patience! The M-rated chapter is up and can be found in my profile under the name "The First Time."_

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* * *

_

When they caught the first glimpses of the main road, Valene nearly dropped to her knees and kissed it. The trip down the mountain had run into the full force of winter, and they'd been forced to put the rope they'd found in Haven to good use, each person tying it around their waist with one long lead rope connecting to the others. With the narrow path almost invisible in the snow, Valene, Morrigan and Wynne had been forced to do their best to melt a path when it became impossible to see which direction they went. Even with the precautions, there had been a few incidents which had nearly ended badly. Oghren had slipped once during a rare moment of sobriety, and the axe on his back had cut through one end of the lead rope. Sten had reacted quickly enough to save the dwarf, but it had shaken them all up enough to stop the moment they found a ledge wide enough to accommodate sleeping. Luckily, the snows had kept away any animals they might have encountered. _They're all smart enough to stay out of weather like that_.

The past few days hadn't been as dangerous, but it had been more difficult to traverse – the trail was scattered with fallen rocks, and the ice made footing uncertain. Worse, for Valene, even the slight withdrawal from lyrium had caused a myriad of side effects, chief among them a swirling sensation in her ears that took away most of her balance. Her ability to feel the pain or cold was severely hampered as well – she'd broken arm a few days prior and hadn't noticed until the arm hadn't responded as she struggled to her feet. Wynne insisted symptoms worsened before abruptly ending, but she and Alistair both kept a tight grip on any lyrium in their possession. Those blue vials were tempting things and Valene admitted they were wise to keep them from view.

A loud sigh behind her made Valene turn around. It was Alistair, shaking his head. "You're scratching again. Stop it." There was a resignation to his voice, but not without reason. Valene had gotten to a point she no longer realized when she was scratching at her wrist – it was something she did almost constantly, anything to distract from the way the lyrium seemed to call to her.

Giving an apologetic smile, Valene forced her hands to her side, ignoring the twitching urges. "Sorry." Gesturing to the road, Valene couldn't help grinning. "With this we're a week away at most. I can't believe we're nearly back."

Alistair only gave her a slight smile. "Yes, the road will be nice." He paused a few moments before shaking his head. "I just hope Eamon's still alive. We've been gone so long..."

Slipping an arm around Alistair, Valene reached up and kissed his cheek lightly. "We've done what was needed as quickly as we could. If the worst has happened, we know we tried our best." True as it was, it was poor comfort when so much depended on the Arl.

Whatever Alistair thought, he said no more and only took her hand as they started down the road.

* * *

Valene paced irritably on the other side of the bed, hands clasped behind her back, and Alistair could have sworn she was muttering something to herself. The closer they'd come to Redcliffe, the harder she'd pushed them, travelling even after it was dark. Daylight was short, the need for travel great, and each sunrise had seen camp packed up, breakfast eaten, and the group well on their way. They'd made it back in just under a week – Valene had pushed the last ten miles late into the night, insisting they get to Eamon as soon as possible. Wynne was administering the Ashes, the other mage sent by the Circle assisting in the healing, but everyone else had already found their beds. Teagan had tried to persuade both Alistair and Valene to rest, but they'd refused. Alistair felt excitement and anticipation, but Valene seemed on edge. He was certain the Ashes would work, even on a man who had been so ill for so long. After all they had experienced at the top of the mountain, Alistair wondered how Valene_ couldn't_ believe they'd work.

There was a rasping gasp of breath from the bed and Alistair turned his attention. Eamon's eyelids fluttered, not yet open, but it was the first sign of movement he'd seen. Teagan dropped to his knees by his brother's side, giving a quiet prayer of thanks to the Maker. Even Valene had halted her pacing to stare at Eamon. Slowly, the Arl's eyes opened, blinking at the light after spending so much time asleep. He moved his mouth but no words came out, only a low whimper. Wynne seemed to understand and took a mug of water from the bedside table. "Teagan, help your brother sit up while I let him drink." Teagan complied and relief washed over the Arl's face as he drank deeply.

Once the water was drained, Eamon shifted slightly, turning his face towards Teagan. "What happened? I remember so little..."

While Teagan explained how the Arl had been poisoned, Alistair glanced at Valene. She had the same look he'd seen on her face when she'd told Oghren she was going to kill his wife – regret, uncertainty and dread. Alistair began to move towards her, wanting to tell her to rest, to get away from this, when Eamon spoke once more. "Where is Isolde?"

Teagan hung his head. "There is more that has happened, brother, it will be... hard for you to hear."

Valene was walking towards Eamon's side now, face resigned. "I'll tell him Teagan, it was my doing." Sitting next to the Arl, Valene picked up a frail hand in her own and began to speak. "My name is Valene Amell and I am a mage and Grey Warden. I came to Redcliffe, seeking your help..." As she launched into a recounting of the terrible events in the village, Alistair left the room. He could not watch.

* * *

Valene stumbled down the hallway, barely managing to keep up with the servant girl leading her to the room she'd been assigned. The look on Eamon's face when she'd told him Isolde was dead was one she would not forget. Wynne had ushered her out of the room then, telling her to get some rest while she and Niral, the mage who had been sent from the Tower, helped Eamon's body heal. She hadn't bothered to protest, unable to continue. Her confession was over now – she only had to wait for whatever justice Eamon would see fit. She felt it would be more appropriate to go spend her time in the dungeon with Jowan than it would to have the comfort of a room and warm bed. The decision she'd made with Isolde hadn't been easy, and while she _still_ felt it was the only real option, she'd dreaded telling Eamon.

Mumbling a thank-you to the servant, Valene slipped into the room and shut the door behind her, resting her head against the wood. She wanted to sleep, but didn't know if she'd be able to manage after seeing the way Eamon had looked at her.

"How did it go?" Alistair's voice made her jump and Valene whirled around to face him.

"I- am I in the wrong room, or..." The question of sleeping arrangements had entirely slipped her mind.

Raising an eyebrow, Alistair casually folded up the tattered cloak he'd worn since Haven. "Teagan put us here. Said we could blame _him_ if it upsets Eamon."

Furrowing her brow, Valene took off her own cloak – it had long grown too hot for such heavy winter clothing in the warmth of the Arl's sick room, but the bedroom was cooler. "And you're alright with that?" Whatever Alistair pretended, he _still_ tried to act as though no one else in the party knew what was going on.

He gave her a small smile. "Fine enough. Now, back to my original question: How did it go?"

Letting out a slow breath, Valene joined him on the bed, resting her head against his shoulder. "Well, he hasn't ordered me executed for killing his wife and using blood magic." She let out a soft snort. "Not yet, anyways." The man seemed too deeply in shock from it all to fully understand, but she had begun to see glimpses of his true self to be worried.

Shifting slightly on the bed, Valene turned her face toward Alistair's, trying to gauge his reaction. "What do you think? You actually _know_ him."

He let out a deep sigh and she could feel his shoulders slump. "I know he loved Isolde more than anything when I knew him – but Connor hadn't been born by that time. He is a man who can be reasoned with, and given Isolde's... involvement with Jowan's presence he may consider the preservation of his people and his son to be enough of a counterbalance."

It wasn't exactly what she'd hoped to hear, but it offered some hope. With any luck, it would be enough to allow her some sleep.

* * *

Barely stifling a yawn, Valene smoothed her skirts in what she hoped didn't look like a nervous twitch. Good as it was to be back in her robes, the castle was chilly this early in the morning and the robes were no longer snug, the fabric around her chest and hips particularly loose. She and Alistair had been summoned to Eamon's study, the Arl looking greatly improved over last night. Wynne had only _just_ stopped to rest, but Valene could see the work had paid off. Muscles long atrophied by months of disuse had been restored, where it would have taken weeks of excruciating exercises to be able to do something as simple as walk. The man's face was still thin, but the shoulders were filled out and set squarely. Teagan was there as well, eyes constantly darting to his brother as if he expected him to fall over at any moment.

They were all sitting in silence, no one saying anything. Eamon was bent over a small stack of papers, Teagan leaned towards his brother, and Alistair looked bored. All of them had been that way since she had walked into the room, the others finished with breakfast before her, making the situation even more awkward.

The rustle of papers was a welcome break in the silence, and the Arl pushed his chair back from his desk, fixing his eyes on Valene. "Now that I'm feeling stronger and have had some time to think about all that's happened, I'd like to say one thing." Eamon placed his elbows on the desk and put his hands together as he leaned forward. "Thank you."

It was the last thing Valene had expected to hear and for a few moments all she could do was blink stupidly. Eamon was staring at her as if he expected a reply, and she grasped at words. "Er... for what, my lord?" Valene hoped the title was adequate for someone of the Arl's standing, and glanced at Alistair who looked _amused_ of all things.

"For saving my people and my son. Without you, both would likely be gone and I would still be ill." Eamon was looking at her intently. Just as she began to protest, he raised a hand. "I loved Isolde and I will miss her, but it is because of you that I have not lost everything I love. Thank you."

Holding the Arl's gaze a few moments, Valene saw gratitude in them and for the first time since arriving at the castle, she began to feel at ease. "You are very welcome, Arl Eamon."

The Arl sat back in his chair and set her with an expression that was pure business. "Rewards will be discussed later. For now, we need to go over the situation Ferelden faces. Teagan has informed me of Loghain's activities, as well as the Blight. As Grey Wardens I'm sure you'll both agree the Blight is the primary concern. However," the Arl glanced at Alistair, "in order to fight against the Blight as best we can, we need to unite Ferelden behind one leader. The Loghain I once knew would never have seized power for his own gain, but I trust my brother when he says the Teryn has changed for the worse. We must gather allies, call a Landsmeet and present a candidate for the throne. Alistair."

Ignoring the chill that settled into her skin, Valene leaned forward, curious. "What will the Landsmeet do? What can _we_ do to see Loghain out of power? We have allied with the mages, as well as the dwarves, and have treaties with the Dalish, but we will need more than that if we are to save Ferelden. Loghain makes that increasingly difficult with the bounty on our heads." It was a deplorable situation, politics getting in the way of something so serious as a horde of darkspawn and an Archdemon lurking in the Deep Roads.

Eamon nodded slowly as she queried him, taking in her words. "The Landsmeet will call the Bannorn to Denerim and allow us an opportunity to overthrow Loghain without civil war. For now, the best you can do is ally the Dalish. It will take some time to call a Landsmeet, but I do have riders who will be able to travel quickly. As for your other allies – if you could write letters calling them to gather forces here, along with any available supplies for their troops, that would be best, and give us a defending army here at Redcliffe." Eamon pulled out a large stack of papers, and began giving Teagan instructions for the castle clerk.

Taking parchment, ink and quill offered by Eamon, Valene couldn't help the smile that formed on her face. Things were finally beginning to take shape.


	32. Chapter 31

Sten moved through the motions of battle easily, expending only the barest effort needed, while the youth in front of him sweating and struggling to keep up. They used only wooden swords, and the young man was clad light chainmail, but Sten knew practice was preparation for battle and he would not relent. With a loud smack, the edge of Sten's wooden blade met with the ribs of the youth, dropping the boy to his knees. The boy was wheezing hard and clutching at his chest. "Maker... I'm not going to be fighting anything _half_ as big as you, am I?"

With a disapproving frown, Sten eyed the human. The _kadan_ had taken harder hits from real blades with less complaint and the lightest of armor. She was wise to have set him over the recruits – so long as the snow fell and covered the roads, it was the best use of his skill. "Ogres are much bigger than I. You need to be stronger. Again."

As the young human clamored to his feet, eyes uncertain, Sten allowed himself the smallest smile. Training was what he'd been born to do.

* * *

Valene watched Alistair as he worked on pacing a rut into the stone floor. He'd taken the news about her promise to kill Flemeth better than she would have expected, but her decision to leave him with Morrigan was not being handled well. "Did it ever occur to you I might be useful with the magic-annulling abilities, and all that? Even if I didn't take my vows, I _am_ a Templar by training."

Remembering Morrigan's tales of Templar pursuers, Valene could only shake her head. "It's not that it didn't occur, it's that Flemeth has faced those like you – those with more experience in being a Templar. Besides, I don't know that this will work as well as I'd like, and I'd prefer you be here with her in case something goes wrong." Whatever Morrigan said about giving herself time, Valene had felt how powerful Flemeth was, and she was not about to take any chances.

Stopping to scrub a hand through his hair, Alistair let out a sigh. "I'm not staying here, Valene." When she started to protest he shook his head. "Look, I know you're going to be stubborn about this, but I refuse to sit here for two or three weeks without knowing what's going to happen. If you _insist_ on doing this without me, I'll only agree if you let me wait in Lothering."

Pausing to consider the idea, Valene turned her gaze to the map in front of her. It detailed the south of Ferelden as best as anyone knew, including the known paths through the Brecilian Forest. Only having to travel to Lothering instead of Redcliffe would save them over a week in travel, and it wouldn't be entirely unreasonable for to stay there. She could leave Shale and Zevran as well – with the corruption demanding a second person on watch, it would mean those who needed sleep would get less than usual, but for a week's time, it wouldn't be overly taxing. _And if it satisfies Alistair's concern, it's worth it_. With any luck, Bodahn could once again be convinced to join them – the Dalish were rumored to be excellent craftsmen, after all, and he likely had a few things they were unable to otherwise purchase - if they could be found.

Nodding slowly, Valene turned her eyes to Alistair. "Very well. You, Morrigan, Shale and Zevran will wait in Lothering. The others will come with me. Once Flemeth is dead, we move to the Brecilian Forest to find the Dalish." The worst of winter weather was over, though Eamon had warned her storms were still a very real possibility. They'd had almost a month's rest, however, and spring would arrive shortly. The rogues and warriors had busied themselves training new recruits, Sten proving a particularly brutal master, but all in all, Redcliffe's forces were larger, stronger and more skilled than they had been when she arrived.

Alistair stared at her a moment before cocking his head to the side. "Did... _I_ just win an argument?"

Laughing, Valene nodded eagerly. "Yes, you did. Now, if you could go get the others while I tell Eamon of our plans. We've work to do."

* * *

Alistair tried not to shudder as Morrigan's body stretched and shifted into a large spider. No matter how many times he saw it, there was something downright _creepy_ about how casually the woman did it, the way her face suddenly had eight eyes and her limbs seemed to split in half, the joints doubling back on themselves while thick, hairy bristles popped up all over her skin. Even if he didn't mind spiders all that much, watching someone's body shift into one was something that gave him chills. As he watched the witch scurry off, he could only shake his head in disbelief. She seemed to actually _enjoy_ changing form.

They'd already spent two full days in Lothering, and the sun was beginning to dawn on their third; the presence of the Taint everywhere and nowhere. It was enough to keep him from sleeping well, and second watch – usually the hardest – had been his best friend. He could only get a few hours of fitful sleep at a time before he woke up in a sweat, ready to draw his sword at any moment. The others said nothing about his nightmares, and mostly kept to themselves. Zevran had entertained himself by going from house to house, finding anything of use before he carted it back to the peddler to sell. Shale was delighted – even though it had been many months since Lothering was overrun, the pitiful remains of those unable to flee attracted birds, and each night she regaled him with tales of how many she'd been able to stomp on at once. Bodahn and Sandal mostly kept to themselves, but any wandering Sandal did was _always_ done with an enchanted sword or three. Alistair had no idea if the dwarf had a clue as to how to use the blades, but he the boy _did_ know his enchantments, and likely carted around anything that could give him the slightest advantage should something happen.

And then there was Morrigan. She'd slunk off every day, choosing one form or another, returning every few hours. The first day he'd nearly yelled himself hoarse, chasing after her as he gave her a lecture on staying put the way Valene had told them to. He'd finally given up after he'd tripped on a large rock and fallen hard on his wrist – he'd only sprained it, but when Morrigan had healed it in silence he could almost _hear_ her chastising him. Since he was entirely devoid of interested company, Alistair had spent the time meticulously cleaning his armor, even though it had only seen a week on the road and was hardly dirty. It was something to keep his mind occupied, something methodical and repetitive to fill his thoughts. Today, he knew, would see Flemeth or Valene dead. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Alistair forced his eyes away from the woods to the south. Valene would win. _She has to_.

* * *

A branch suddenly whipped back, hitting Valene square in the jaw and the sudden impact took her by such surprise she immediately fell. Rubbing her sore jaw, Valene cursed Sten. The qunari had offered to go ahead, trampling the snow and breaking branches in an effort to make travel easier. His odd affinity for a tree he called _lasaam_ – something he _refused_ explain – meant each one encountered was left unscathed, and if she followed too close she received a branch hurtling towards her. She'd been hit half a dozen times since breaking camp a few hours ago, and was becoming sorely tempted to burn the whole swampy forest down. They'd encountered a small band of darkspawn the day before, but the group had seemed focused on something else entirely, barely paying attention to her. Even though she had been a Grey Warden less than a year, experience told her they could sense her if she were close enough. The implications were disturbing – whatever they had been doing, they were wholly devoted to the task, and had fought without the usual delight. Such devotion in darkspawn was only inspired by one thing – the Archdemon.

Violet eyes stared down at her, and one of Sten's massive hands was held out. "You follow too close, _kadan_." Taking his hand, Valene prepared herself for the inevitable sensation that her hand was caught between two stones, each of them slowly crushing her between them. As Sten yanked her to her feet, Valene winced as something in her shoulder wrenched – ever since naming her _kadan_ he seemed to think she was physically stronger than she actually was.

Ignoring his comment, Valene pulled her hand out of the giant's grasp with considerable effort. "Thank you, Sten. I think we're close, I'll lead from here." The qunari raised an eyebrow at her and said nothing more, but in her experience it was as good as anyone else laughing. Going _under_ the offending branch, Valene silently cursed the swamp. The path had been somewhat cleared when she'd been here before, likely Morrigan's and Flemeth's doing, but it seemed the swamp had reclaimed what it could since high summer.

Scrambling up the brush-covered hill that rose beneath her feet, Valene caught a whiff of something cooking and froze. Not saying a word, she motioned behind her and heard the footsteps of the others stop. Staying in a low crouch, Valene crept up the hill, the familiar hut coming into view. There was the vague outline of a human standing near the door, but even that was enough to make Valene's blood run cold. Flemeth was expecting them.

* * *

Every instinct Wynne possessed told her to flee from the woman standing before her. Power seemed to fall off her in waves, striking her so suddenly she had nearly buckled at the sudden shift. It was entirely alien from anything she'd felt in the Tower – even Uldred's blood magic had carried an undercurrent of familiarity. The closest was Morrigan's magic, but this held a sinister edge, something that felt as though it no longer belonged to a human. She'd seen Valene flinch when she'd encountered the strange magic as well, but the young woman was holding her ground, meeting the _thing_ that called herself Flemeth with a steady gaze.

The revelation that Alistair and Valene had both been saved by Flemeth shocked Wynne to the core. This entity – housed in the body of an old woman – felt too strong to care about such trivial things as Grey Wardens and Blights. Valene had mentioned Flemeth was many centuries old – surely she had encountered Blights before. If this particular Blight were enough to worry a creature of such power as the one that stood before her...

Wynne shook her head to clear the bad thoughts that were waiting to creep into her mind. Settling her eyes on the back of the young mage before, Wynne steeled herself against the power she felt Flemeth drawing towards her. Valene had kept her word to Morrigan and Flemeth had simply laughed at her declaration.

As the thing that called itself Flemeth backed away, its body began to shimmer, disappearing into a white light so bright it temporarily blinded Wynne. By the time her vision began to slowly clear, a painfully loud roar told her exactly what shape Flemeth had taken. _Dragon_.

* * *

As the dragon's head reared back, Leliana loosed an arrow that lodged itself just below the beast's eye. The roar of fury it released came with fire, directed squarely at her head. Diving aside with a quick roll, Leliana could feel the intense heat from her low stance three paces away. Catching something that hot would do damage even Wynne would have trouble healing. As it was, the dragon was doing its best to kick and bite at Oghren and Sten, but it treated them as mere annoyances. Valene was the real target. All the rest were simply obstacles in the way to the dragon's true aim, and the Warden was barely keeping out of the dragon's reach, darting in to freeze the creature any time it became infuriated enough by Oghren's axe or Sten's greatsword to turn its head. Valene had broken off part of a wing then, a great block of stone hurled at the thin, frozen flesh, and as the dragon thawed, Leliana had seen the look in the eyes of the thing that had been Flemeth – it wanted revenge.

A fireball exploded near the Warden's feet, and Leliana watched in horror as the mage's robes caught fire. Valene was struggling to get up, Wynne was shouting at her to run into the water less than a dozen paces away and Sten had let out a cry of pure fury. Instead of running into the swamp, Valene only turned, freezing the dragon again, the flames on her robes growing brighter. In that moment, Leliana knew the Warden wasn't going to save herself until the dragon lay dead.

Casting aside her bow, Leliana rushed towards the Warden, ticking off the seconds she had until the dragon could once again move. Forcing herself into a sudden burst of speed, Leliana grabbed the mage by the arm and pulled them both towards the swamp. The momentum was enough to get them most of the way there, and with a final effort, Leliana threw the mage into the shallow water, the flames sputtering and dying as water enveloped them.

A loud crack announced the dragon was once again free, and Leliana whirled, drawing twin daggers. Its eyes were now on her, ice falling from its form in sheets, and Leliana faced the eyes of evil without a flinch. The Maker would guide her.

* * *

Spluttering at the mouthful of water that tasted vaguely of rotten meat, Valene tried to sit up, the pain of the burns suddenly rushing into her. She stumbled forward clumsily, the wet robes and thick, green plants lining the bottom of the swamp hampering her progress. Leliana was a blur of leather armor and red hair, the dragon snapping and swiping at her with abandon. Its great tail flicked, knocking Sten and Oghren both to the ground. Searching for her staff, Valene spied it a few paces away from the shoreline. Limping to it, she grasped it, gathering a spell in preparation, but a sudden crunching sound stopped her.

Raising her eyes to the shape Flemeth had chosen, Valene gasped in horror as she saw Leliana grasped in its jaws. She could feel the power of the dragon flickering, knew it was almost at an end, but she could not tear her eyes away from the way the bard hung limp in the wicked teeth.

Moments passed before Wynne's shout brought her mind back to the task at hand. Drawing the magic inside her, pushing her own limits of ability, Valene drew everything she possessed into herself, rushing forward in an awkward gait. When the tip of the staff made contact with the dragon's thick skin, just above the creature's heart, she let loose the power in a torrent of ice and lightning. The effort made her hands feel as though they were melting to the black staff, but she didn't let go, didn't flinch, channeling every scrap of magic she could grasp into Flemeth's heart. The dragon began to twitch, and, with a roar and a thud, it released Leliana from its grasp, trying desperately to pull away from Valene's staff. The magic that connected them refused to break, and sweat poured down her face as she felt the dragon die.

As the beast sank to its feet, head dropping to the ground, Sten and Oghren both rushed forward to hack at its neck. With the last of her magic finally spent, Valene crumpled to the ground beside the beast, watching as the movement of breath and heart slowed, finally stopping after a victorious cry from Oghren.

She heard Sten call to Wynne, telling her to attend Leliana, and a few moments later huge arms were picking her up gently, Sten's stern violet eyes staring down at her. The movement jarred her burned limbs and torso, and it was then she really let herself feel the damage. Eyes fluttering closed, she heard Sten's voice speak in a tone so quiet she almost couldn't make it out.

"Rest, _kadan_. You have earned it." Nodding once, Valene did as Sten asked.

* * *

Morrigan stood up suddenly, immediately striding to the southern edge of camp. The unexpected movement made Alistair jump, and as he saw her walk as if possessed, he stood and drew his sword and shield, gathering his will power, holding it on edge, ready to unleash it at a moment's notice. She did nothing for several minutes, and the effort of holding his Templar powers began to make Alistair sweat.

When she finally turned, Alistair saw a relieved sort of calm in Morrigan's look, an expression he'd never seen. She smiled at _him_ and let out a delighted laugh. "Flemeth is dead."

As Morrigan recited the same mantra over and over – almost making it a prayer – Alistair turned his own gaze to the south. He could see and feel nothing that told him what Morrigan seemed to already understand. Settling back to his perch on a log, Alistair frowned at his sword, brightly polished, perfectly sharpened, the day's attempt to keep his mind and hands busy, his armor already scrubbed impossibly clean twice.

As he began to pace, thoughts of Valene's fate in Morrigan's quest began to fill his head. Flemeth was powerful – he'd felt that surely enough – and all sorts of horrible ends danced around his mind, taunting him. Gritting his teeth, Alistair pulled out his belt knife and whet stone. Worrying would bring him nothing but distress. He would have to wait.


	33. Chapter 32

_AN: Sorry for the delays, I've had major writer's block on this thing – summer's sort of gone to my head! I really am trying to get them out as quickly as possible – thank you for still staying with me while I work through this!_

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* * *

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Zevran lunged at Alistair, each of his daggers aimed at particularly vulnerable spots, leading with the left hand, a move meant to throw his defense. The warrior shifted stances with a simple step, meeting the dagger with his sword, and as Zev's right hand flew towards the other man's vulnerable middle, Alistair moved his shield to guard, pushing against the blow just as the metal connected. Zevran had not expected him to move so fast, the sudden force applied while he took a step. Thrown off balance, Zev fell to the ground, trying to twist as he fell, but the sudden point of a blade nestled against his ribs and he froze. It was held there a few moments before Alistair withdrew, a grin on his face. "You alright?"

Raising an eyebrow at the Warden, Zevran nodded, arching his back as he jumped to his feet. Alistair raised an eyebrow that was equal parts impressed and incredulous, but Zevran just grinned. "You're getting better, my friend."

The other man's forehead went smooth and there was a slight frown. "I wasn't aware I needed to get better after the first time I beat you."

Feigning hurt, Zevran clutched at his heart. "Oh, you wound me so, my dear Alistair, perhaps you wish me at your mercy in _other_ ways?"

As Alistair's mouth gaped open, Zev laughed in delight. "Ah, you may beat me with blades, but I certainly have you with words." At the other man's grumble, Zevran returned his daggers to their sheaths and started towards the area they had designated camp. "Come, it is my turn to make dinner. You can... well, you can fetch water." It was really all Zev trusted Alistair to do, as even the Warden's attempts to cut potatoes ended in a pile of thick skins and unevenly sized lumps.

A wolf charged from behind the husk of a mostly-burned building, catching Zevran's eye. It had to be Morrigan – true wolves would never charge a human camp in daylight unless rabid. She was decidedly more pleasant to be around when she was a wolf, if not quite so enjoyable to look at. The spider, on the other hand, never failed to make him feel as though he needed a bath. As the wolf slowed, it began to change shape, taking Morrigan's form. Her eyes were full of excitement, something he wouldn't have said possible the week before, but with her mother dead, she had changed. She was less likely to snap, less prone to fixing them with cool looks and eye rolls so exaggerated they looked almost painful. In fact, she'd almost reached "good company" over the last week.

As she approached him, smile curving her lips, Zevran refrained from questioning her. One thing that hadn't changed was her annoyance at pointless questions. She'd stated more than once that she would speak if she wished, and if she knew anything of import she would share. With a slight nod, Morrigan acknowledged him as she drew herself to her full height, looking thoroughly pleased. "Valene and the others should be here before sundown. I did not see them, but I caught their scent and came back as quickly as I could."

Trying to keep his own excitement from his face, Zev mulled over her words. From the way she spoke it sounded as though all of them had survived. With a nod, Zevran continued on to the camp fire. "I'll have to cook more dinner, then." As much as he might wish to deny it, there was a certain red-haired bard he'd rather missed.

* * *

Bolting down the thick stew, Valene ignored the way it burned her throat. The trek back had been slow and difficult. Sten and Oghren had taken turns carrying Leliana's pack and Valene had been forced to limp along as fast as she could. The bard had survived, her wounds healed, but she'd lost enough blood to weaken her significantly. Valene was seriously considering sending her back to Redcliffe while they searched for the Dalish; the woman was in no condition to fight any time soon, but sending her back to Redcliffe alone wasn't an option. Her own injuries had been extensive, if not serious, and she'd forced Wynne to put off healing them until Leliana was well enough to make it back to Lothering. Blotchy patches of scarred skin were scattered up and down Valene's arms and legs, and another ran from ribs to hip, the best Wynne could accomplish after the wounds had gone two days with nothing more than health poultices. Valene's robes had not been so lucky, and she'd been forced to turn to the tunic and pants she'd brought to sleep in. Her old robes – the ones given to her by Irving upon passing her Harrowing – had been tucked away in a pack she'd paid the dwarf to cart around. They weren't nearly as powerful as the ones Flemeth had destroyed, but they were better than nothing. Leather armor had once again crossed her mind, but Alistair had been right – she seemed to draw more attention in it than she did wearing brightly-colored robes.

Across the fire, Zevran was seated next to Leliana, listening to her as she spun a tale, calling it "The Fall of Flemeth." She was modest in the telling, leaving out the part where she'd _saved _Valene, instead simply saying she had gotten too close to the dragon. Had Valene not been so ravenous, she would have corrected the bard, but for now it would do. Oghren was already drunk, leering at Morrigan while her head was stuck in Flemeth's true grimoire, and Sten and Wynne sat a fair distance apart, each quietly eating. That left Alistair as the only other person at the fire, sitting near her, not speaking, simply eying her nervously. She had a map laid between her feet, showing the trade route through the Brecillian forest. The trail was a slim thing, easily lost in the vast expanse of green that covered the soft, supple leather on which the map had been painted. There was a passage to the south, but no clearly marked road, simply a break in the high hills that bounded the south-western border of the forest. The highway would be a longer route, but easier travelling. _But the Dalish aren't likely going to stay near any road humans frequent_.

Letting out a soft sigh, Valene took another bite of stew. Alistair shifted towards her, peering at the map. "Any ideas?"

When she let out an exasperated sigh, Alistair held up his hands as if to defend himself. "I'm just curious. I understand the Dalish don't like to be found."

Setting down her stew, Valene picked up the map, spreading it over her lap. She traced a finger along the route that led to Gwaren. "Entering the forest through here will be easiest, but the Dalish probably won't be anywhere near it. I'm tempted to split up – one party to the north, another to the south, but I can't imagine the Dalish would be too far to the south – we encountered some darkspawn on the way to Flemeth's hut, and any bands that were too distracted to attack us were headed into the Bannorn." Scrubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, Valene bit back a sigh of frustration.

Alistair raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean 'too distracted' to attack? You've been a Warden long enough for them to sense you."

Her skin rippled at the chill that washed through her. "I know. They were moving with purpose and didn't even pause until we were nearly on them. It's the Archdemon." As Alistair let out a slow breath, Valene rolled up the map. She didn't want to bring up the nightmares that had crept into her head no matter how hard she tried to keep them out. "We need to find the Dalish as quickly as possible – I didn't see many groups, and those I did were small – but _any_ delay that can be avoided _must_ be avoided. Taking care of the Blight comes first, and that means finding the Dalish, but I don't want the darkspawn in the Bannorn any longer than they need to be." Everything Duncan had managed to get out about the Wardens before he'd died – and everything Alistair had shared with her since – told her she needed to be there protecting people, fighting in the Bannorn. The Dalish were needed, though, and she had to constantly convince herself it would save more lives in the end. _If we can find them_.

There was a light touch on her shoulder and Valene turned to face Alistair. His expression was full of concern, brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down. "You're not going to take a day to rest, are you?"

Shaking her head, Valene stood up, trying to roll the fatigue from her shoulders. "Leliana needs the rest more than anyone, but we leave in the morning. If we make good time we can take half a day once we reach the trade route."

Alistair's mouth moved as if he were going to protest, but he simply shook his head and waved a hand at her. "Fine, just... get some rest."

Wincing at the cool dismissal, Valene fought the hurt feelings that welled inside her, instead turning to her tent without another word. The strain of it all was finally beginning to get to her, everything was so close to completion and yet it had never felt farther away. The thought of having to face a room full of nobles with uncertain alliances, of facing Loghain as _regent_, made her head spin. Even if a few could see beyond her magic, it would still count against her in the Landsmeet. Putting Alistair on the throne could look like a power grab unless they hid their relationship. So far only their allies knew of it, and once they arrived in Denerim it would have to stay that way.

Ducking into the dark of her tent, Valene was suddenly glad Alistair wouldn't be joining her. Tonight she needed to be alone.

* * *

Muttering a curse, Alistair pressed through the forest, swatting away bee that had plagued him for the last hour or so. He'd tripped and fallen into a small grove of flowers, and it seemed everything with wings was intent on annoying him as long as the pollen of spring flowers coated him in a fine yellow dust. Travel through the forest had been nothing short of infuriating, moss-covered branches hiding in wait for the unwary step, tiny ponds hidden under hundreds of lily pads no bigger than his thumb nail, just _waiting_ to soak his feet, and streams crisscrossing the land with abandon. They'd wandered for a few days already, spread out in a long line within calling distance of each other. He took one end while Valene took the other, each possessing the vain hope that, should either of them stumble across the Dalish first, their status as Warden's would stay any knives or arrows that got too close.

Half of him couldn't help wondering if it wasn't yet _another_ way of her distancing herself from him. She'd been cool towards everyone since returning from Flemeth, retiring to her tent early each night, insisting on Shale waking her a few hours before dawn. Valene claimed it was in the sake of giving darkspawn only a few hours' time in which they could be caught unprepared, but Alistiar had begun to think otherwise. Every time he'd brought up the Landsmeet – or anything beyond finding the Dalish – she'd gottena look that hovered between nerves and resignation. Whenever she actually said something she was deliberate, but decisions seemed to be fewer, and she spent hours pouring over maps or notes Teagan had written down on Ferelden nobility. He found her with one or the other spread in her lap every morning, so absorbed she never noticed anyone's approach until they were almost on her. The worst part was watching it all happen – the early wake-up she insisted upon had put dark circles under her eyes, and the yellow enchanter's robes she wore were far too big, even though his Templar training told him robes were tailored to individual mages. If her strange behavior continued much longer, Alistair would be sorely tempted to toss her into one of the streams in an attempt to get a reaction out of her.

The sound of a bow being drawn reached his ears, and his hand instantly went to his sword hilt. It was too late though, evidenced by the cool feel of metal against his throat. Fighting the potentially deadly urge to swallow, Alistair looked around until he found the one holding the dagger. An elf woman, pretty and wearing a look that told him _exactly_ how much she hated humans, was the culprit. "You had better leave, _shem_. The Dalish camp here and we don't take kindly to intruders."

Despite the cool day, Alistair felt sweat break out on his brow. "Uh... that's great!" The elf's forehead smoothed and panic clawed at his throat. "I mean, uh, I'm a Grey Warden. And we have treaties." The pressure of the dagger lessened slightly and Alistair let out a sigh of relief. "I'm not really the person in command, she's a ways that way." He began to point, but his wrist was quickly seized and twisted in a way Alistair hadn't thought possible.

Dropping to his knees with a low wail, Alistair forced the panic from his mind. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the small woman causing him so much discomfort. "I swear it. We have treaties with the Dalish. There are nine of us – eleven, if you include the peddler and his son – they're at the camp we made this morning."

Cold eyes stared at him a few moments before the woman let him go. "We'll see if the others have the same to say. Call them."

As Alistair did as she asked, he couldn't help wondering if asking the Dalish for help had been a mistake.


	34. Chapter 33

"I don't like this." Alistair's voice was low, and when Valene glanced at him she saw his gaze was firmly settled on Zathrian.

Putting down a page containing a list of nobles loyal to an Arl Wolff, Valene shifted towards Alistair. "I assume you're referring to his request."

There was a slight nod and Alistair's gaze lingered over the elf for a few moments. "Yes. I just find it strange. You think if it was just a wolf they could do it themselves. And he's so abrupt about everything, so... unwilling to help."

He was right. Something about the man was just _off_. His apprentice had mentioned he was hundreds of years old, but the elves hadn't had long life in thousands of years. He was capable of magic – his actual power wasn't much greater than her own, from what she had sensed - but she knew older mages possessed skills that could only come from years of experience. Working with the same spells for decades allowed individual mages to find ways to bolster power without sacrificing much additional mana. It was different for each individual and couldn't be taught, simply something that _was_; if Zathrian was half as old as he claimed to be, he'd prove an incredibly difficult foe in a fight. Between his magic and the two or three dozen hunters still healthy, Valene was certain he easily could have managed this Witherfang himself. _But he's sending _us_ instead_. It didn't make any sense.

"I agree – when we start towards the ruins he's directed us to, I plan to be cautious. I don't think we're being told everything." She still needed the Dalish – especially if Zathrian could quickly alert other clans, as he claimed – but she didn't like the distinct sensation that they were being misled.

Turning his full attention to her, Alistair's mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. "So you _are_ talking again. I was beginning to think you'd gone mute." Valene bit back a sigh and quirked an eyebrow. The lack of response made Alistair's face fall momentarily, before he turned sad eyes that better suited a puppy than a warrior. "Aww, only talking about the important things then? Was it something I said? Morrigan hasn't told me I smell like dirty socks for at least a week, so it can't be that."

Allowing herself a slight smile, Valene shook her head. "No, just... nervous. We're almost ready to face Loghain and I don't know how that's all going to go. He has a lot of support and has spent every moment since Ostagar promoting us as traitors and king-killers. He won't be easy to take down." It was almost entirely true – the looming reality that she would have to face Loghain soon made her immensely uneasy, and the darkspawn invading the Bannorn only added to her concerns. And on top of it all there was Alistair. They'd convinced themselves that his royal blood didn't matter, but the more she delved into the outlines of Ferelden politics during meetings with Eamon and in the lists provided by Teagan, she was beginning to realize how naïve both of them had been. She was mostly certain she could be happy being a mistress and not a wife, but she wasn't all that certain Ferelden's future queen would take kindly to a philandering husband. And then there was Alistair's personal honor – as strong as his statements of love and devotion were, she saw the way any talk of a future bride put him ill at ease, even if he tried to hide it behind off-hand jokes and an easy smile. Still, it was months off, at least, and that gave her time – and Alistair – to come to terms with the changes that would come once he was made king.

Rubbing her temples, Valene closed her eyes. "I'm sorry I've been quiet. There's too much on my mind lately, and even with all the preparation from Teagan and Eamon, the thought of facing a room full of Ferelden nobility makes me ill."

A low, amused laugh escaped Alistair's lips and he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "You fell darkspawn by the hundreds and you're worried about a few annoyed nobles?"

Chuckling, Valene could only nod. "At least I can trust darkspawn to always try and kill me. I was always terrible at following the shifting alliances of the _Tower_, and that was happening all around me. How am I supposed to get hold on an entire country?"

"We'll make it work. Well, you will, at least. I'll fumble over myself and make them lose all hope in Ferelden's future." Lips pressed to her hair and Valene couldn't help the content sigh that escaped her.

The words rang in her head as they sat in silence. It was simple enough to say, but actually doing it would require skills she wasn't sure she possessed. "_We'll make it work._" They had to.

* * *

Blood and muck covered her leathers, red and black and brown, some of it hers, most of it not. The forest had not been kind, blocking them at every turn, forcing them down one path or another. Thin scratches from branches lay over skin exposed by the weapons of darkspawn or the claws and teeth of werewolves. The deeper wounds had been healed by Wynne, but the older mage was getting tired, and each injury spilled blood they couldn't afford to lose. Leliana had tried to be careful, avoiding the worst of the attacks, but there had always been something there, biting and tearing. With a quiet shiver, she ducked under another branch, praying to the Maker fervently. She'd only _just_ recovered from the disaster with Flemeth, and now they were two days' slow march from the Dalish. She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following them, watching, waiting for a chink in their defenses, a momentary lull in awareness. The entire forest lived up to every scary tale she had heard – and told – and her skin itched to get away from its quiet depths.

Still, it was not the worst she had endured. She had faced the torture in Ferelden alone, and as she caught Zevran's eye, she smiled. This time, she had someone by her side.

* * *

The small gem flashed weakly in Valene's hand and Alistair felt a cool tingle at the back of his neck. His hand tightened on the hilt of his longsword, the hard leather digging into his palm. Quiet whispers tickled his ears, sending a chill down his spine. Whatever was in the gem seemed to hold Valene's attention, and he could see her mouth move, but no words came out. Shifting uncomfortably, Alistair turned to the others. None seemed half so bothered as him.

Shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably, he waited and watched.

* * *

Sweat-slicked tendrils of hair clung to Valene's face, and she could feel heat from the sylvan that lay at her feet, crackling with magic fire. The stench of burning fur met her nose so strongly she almost gagged. Zathrian lay pinned by another fallen tree, his staff several feet away, and as she approached him, he struggled a moment before slumping. Fixing him with a cold stare, Valene absently toyed with the hilt of her belt dagger. "Will you end it?"

The elf searched her face as if waiting for her to hesitate, or balk at killing a man in cold blood, but whatever he saw gave him no hope. With a deep sigh, Zathrian nodded. "I will."

The sun was too bright and held no warmth, despite the obvious signs of spring surrounding them. They were finally back at the Dalish camp, the new Keeper in deep discussion with Valene, while the others were busy cleaning or repairing what they could of armor and weapons. Ignoring the mud that caked her once-brilliant robes, Wynne strode purposely to the elves gathered around the campfire. She had someone to find.

* * *

_AN: Sorry this chapter is short and lacking in detail. This (the Brecilian Forest) has been a major source of writer's block for the past month or so. The future chapters are looking up – I have several hundred words written for the next! Thank you for your patience, and as always, reviews are wonderful. With Leliana's POV, I'm using the Lelian's Song DLC as cannon since it goes into more detail than Leliana did in Origins.  
_


	35. Chapter 34

_The Fade rippled around her, pressing against the barriers she'd built up. Focusing her will, Valene exerted her efforts against the landscape that seemed to be caving in around her. The sickeningly familiar whispers of darkspawn began to caress her mind, drawing her away slowly, quietly, as if they _knew_ she would resist. Any time she tried, they only pulled more firmly, until the dingy yellow landscape was displaced by the dank darkness of the Deep Roads._

_ It was the dream she'd had the night she'd become a Grey Warden, but this time she knew it for what it was. There was no dream world here, only the taint in her blood pulsing and twisting, answering the call of the old god._

_ Her stomach churned and she felt as though she were shifting, running along twisted caverns dug by thousands of darkspawn, all in an effort to answer the call of dragons long banished by the Maker. Deeper the vision took her, passing ruins and roads long lost to dwarves and men. The sensation only ceased when she stood on the edge of a chasm, molten rock throwing up a heated red glow, and across the cavern she saw movement._

_ Sharp, jagged teeth caught the crimson light of magma, and for all her efforts to look away, they held her gaze. The dragon – the _Archdemon_ –slowly crept out of the shadows, drawing itself to its full height as it flapped powerful wings. The same deafening roar that had rung out at Bownammar filled her ears now, and she fought to wake up, struggled against the irresistible song of tainted blood. Laughing filled her ears, the deep, guttural chuckle of a hurlock, and in the distance, shrieks cried triumphantly. All was lost as the dragon regarded her with dead, white eyes and Valene wept. She had failed._

_

* * *

_

_Alistair's insides felt as though they had been tied in a knot. Twisted shapes surrounded him, _taunted_ him, the poison in his blood humming in time with his tormentors. Shield and sword were gone, armor vanished, and he stood before them in unarmed and unprotected. He remembered the first nightmares, the way they had been, but they had never felt so disgustingly _real_ as what he felt now. The creatures whispered in his head, a language whose words he could not fathom, but intent was clear. _

_ Flinching as a sudden, deafening roar filled his head, Alistair turned, trying to find the only thing that could make that noise: a dragon. The ground suddenly shook beneath him, knocking him off his feet, and as he felt the warm breath of the beast bearing down on him, he rolled to the side, scrambling at rocks and dirt, at _anything_ that would help him escape the nightmare._

_ When the creature met his gaze, boring into him with foggy white eyes, Alistair felt every good – and bad – memory slip away. As the Archdemon spoke he could only listen as its voice grew quiet, caressing his mind with words he couldn't comprehend, until he finally began to go mad._

_

* * *

_

The creatures were swift and flitted from shadow to shadow, tricking his eyes as he moved to cut them down. The battle at Lake Calenhad sprang to his mind, the darkspawns' union with the gloom of night as maddening as it had been when his brothers had fallen around him. Most of the others were half-asleep, bleary eyed, none of them wearing armor. Sten had been deep in meditation when the alarm was sounded, half-armored, Asala safely at his side, and when her steel met tainted flesh it cut cleanly, quickly and with deadly force. He had been prepared, but he was outnumbered.

They lashed at him in short, calculated movements, striking at him, tearing chainmail and leather, his armor shedding tiny pieces with thumps and clinks that were lost in the piercing screeches of the darkspawn. Shadows twisted and a face that was all sharp angles and teeth suddenly appeared, wickedly curved daggers glinting in the firelight. Gripping Asala hard, Sten let out a slow breath as he swung, moving through the action carefully, mindfully, waiting until steel hit flesh to twist and pull. The creature's cry was abruptly cut short, turning into a pitiful, bloody gurgle as Sten spilled its life at his feet.

Sharp pain filled Sten's side, the familiar sensation setting off an instinctual chain of events, each moment forming in his mind as he moved. _Twist away, turn on toe, slash at middle, arc up, swing down_. The blade met the shriek's head with a satisfying crunch.

There was a sudden cry of rage that caught Sten's ear and he turned _just_ enough to catch a blur of brown hair and silver staff. It was the Warden, rushing forward, staff beginning to glow an eerie green that was all too familiar. The mage let loose a massive ball of stone, aimed wildly at a creature that was ripping and cutting at someone so covered in blood they were unrecognizable. Skin rippled and bones cracked as the stone hit home, knocking the shriek over. The _kadan_ swung back her staff, bringing it down on the shriek's head with a yell and a crunch, and then the camp grew quiet, save for the panting sounds as everyone drew deep breaths after the exertion.

It was quickly broken by an order from the _kadan_, and he could hear the panic in her voice. "Wynne, Morrigan, get over here now." Morrigan started towards her immediately, but the older mage held back a moment, swaying slightly on her feet and firmly planting her staff in the ground to steady herself. The Warden's head snapped around, grey eyes icy. "Wynne, _now_. Zevran, go get any lyrium potions you can find. Leliana, health poultices."

The others moved quietly and quickly, Wynne stumbling once or twice, but ultimately reaching the fallen body. With the three mages huddled over it, Sten couldn't see more than he had earlier, but the tone in the _kadan's_ voice said it all.

* * *

"Quit pestering me, woman, I'm fine! Sweet Maker, you don't have any sense of personal space, do you?" Alistair protests were more coherent than they had been the day before, though it seemed he wasn't in a position to win battles just yet. They were camped for the night and Wynne was seeing to his bandages. Even with Morrigan, Wynne and herself working in concert, they had only managed so much, and it had been a long and exhausting experience. Zevran had sewn up the smaller wounds they hadn't had the strength to heal, and while Alistair could stumble around with help, he'd been confined to Bodahn's wagon for the past four days. Spring was in full swing and with the Archdemon keenly aware of the last Wardens in Ferelden, they couldn't afford much delay. _Well, that and Eamon will kill me if I bring Alistair back in pieces._ They hadn't made very quick progress, but they were finally out of the forest and the clunky peddler's wagon had firm ground under its wheels.

Wynne ducked out of the tent, giving her a quick nod, before striding away. Valene watched the other mage retreat to her tent. Until today, Alistair had been too disoriented with fever or pain to comprehend what was going on around him, but as Morrigan and Wynne became more rested, they were able to heal little bits here and there. From her understanding, Alistair was mostly suffering from blood loss, and that could only be healed with time. She hadn't seen him awake yet, instead trying to find enough time to fret over the Landsmeet, the Archdemon and whether or not she'd be able to make sense of the odd images the spirit in the gem had given her. The latter had proven interesting, if nothing else - attempts to lift heavy swords or shields had been met with spotty success. One minute she'd be holding a great sword with relative ease, the next she'd suddenly be following the sword to the ground as her spell faltered. She didn't really like using weapons – nothing made her feel as safe as her staff – but with only her enchanter robes for protection, she felt half-naked during battle. She had no idea how Wynne and Morrigan could stand it, and whatever her reservations about pointy things, a suit of chainmail wouldn't go amiss. Still, it seemed easier to practice with weapons than armor_. If I can ever get the hang of it_.

The important question was the ambush, and why the Archdemon had chosen _then_ to attack. Did it know what they were doing? Could it use them to see what they planned? Had it been watching them all along? The questions made her stomach churn, and she doubted Alistair had any answers. He said he'd told her all he knew, but she hoped there was some half-forgotten bit of information that would come to mind when asked.

Turning to Alistair's tent, Valene swirled with conflicting emotions, torn between dreading the terrible possibilities that faced them and the uncertain fog if they could not be answered. Clearing her throat lightly, Valene cracked the tent flap open just a bit. "Can I come in?"

There was a loud sigh, followed by a quiet laugh. "I thought you were Wynne, come to torture me again. You've no idea how glad I am it's you." Allowing herself a smile, Valene slipped into the tent, absently casting a small wisp of light. The smell of elfroot was almost overwhelming, the tent itself strange and foreign with newly-patched tears and a dark blood stain that had refused to wash out. Alistair was half-propped on his elbows, slowly moving to make more room. The movements were more cautious than painful, and that, at least, was a relief. With luck and a little more healing, he'd be well enough to walk the last day or two to Redcliffe.

Settling into an awkward seated position in the small open space near Alistair, Valene pressed a hand to Alistair's forehead and reached out with her magic. He was neither too cool nor too warm to the touch, and the tiny thread of magic let her feel his pulse – steady, if not as strong as it should be. She could feel the residue of magic at each of his injuries and touched them lightly with her own, closing her eyes as she concentrated, mending a few of the deeper scratches that had gone unattended. Finally satisfied he was as healthy as could be expected, Valene opened her eyes to find Alistair fixing her with an odd look. Frowning slightly, she sat back, trying to read his expression. "What?"

"As much as I complain, Wynne has me feeling better than I've any right to. You don't have to do _everything_." The last was said with a furrowed brow and Valene barely bit back a sigh. She couldn't help it – she knew he didn't like it when she pushed herself, but she also knew he wouldn't do anything beyond speaking his mind.

Slumping slightly, she closed her eyes again. "I know, I just wanted to feel for myself. I-" She paused, taking a deep breath. The same panicky urge that had overcome her the night of the ambush was threatening to overwhelm her again. It had come and gone while he was unconscious, fluttered at the edge of awareness, and now, with him obviously on the mend and displeased with her, it was back with a vengeance. "I'm just worried and..." Blinking away tears that were beginning to form, she shook her head. "I should go."

Familiar hands brushed at her wrist, the calluses making her shiver. "I didn't mean it that way, but Maker's breath, you look like you haven't rested in weeks."

Holding her half-turned pose moments longer, Valene finally turned back to Alistair. "We've kept a slow pace; I haven't pushed hard since we needed to stay with you and the cart." It was a lame excuse, and his arched eyebrow and frown told her he thought the same. The truth was she hadn't slept well, not with her dreams filled with memories of that night. It wasn't the Archdemon calling to her in truth, but in a dream it hardly made a difference. She hadn't had such poor control over the Fade since she was a child, but every effort she made to alter the dream only seemed to make it worse.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the discomfort lying thick between them. Her earlier question of the Archdemon ran through her mind, over and over, until the awkward atmosphere and her desire to do _something_ finally broke her silence. "It hasn't done that before. Why now?"

Alistair blinked a few times and cocked his head. "What hasn't done what before?"

Ducking her head in embarrassment, Valene occupied herself by toying with the hopelessly frayed hem of her robes. "The Archdemon. It's never done that before, never... called to me like that."

Relaxing slightly, Alistair rolled onto his back slowly, staring up at the tent and the tiny white light that pulsed at the top. "I haven't had that happen before either. I don't know what it means, except we need to be more careful." One of his large, heavy hands settled on hers and she ventured a look. "Are you alright?"

Smiling weakly, Valene shook her head. "No. We have our treaties fulfilled, Eamon's behind us, and I've never felt so hopeless about everything. Maker, I felt that way _before_ the attack. Then you almost died, and every day we get closer to Redcliffe I get this sick feeling. I've studied the list of names and alliances Teagan gave me until I can't read anymore, but I _still_ can't make a clear picture." Tears were beginning to flow in earnest now, even as much as she tried to blink them away. "And _if_ it somehow works out, if we get enough support, that means you're going to be king." _And I don't fit in once that happens_.

It had been eating away at her for the last month. Distancing herself had proven nearly impossible – those soft eyes and warm smiles kept drawing her back, and the words he whispered in her ear when they were alone made her deepest fears seem to drift away. And yet each morning it would all come rushing in like high tide, pushing over her until Alistair pulled it away again. The past few days it had swirled around her, the doubt and fear piling higher, until they too, spilled into her dreams.

Scrubbing at her face, Valene let out a choking laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm dumping all of this on you while you're trying to heal. I'll let you rest."

Pushing himself to a sitting position, Alistair reached out to cup her face, tilting it to face his. "No. Stay the night."

It took Valene a few moments to realize her mouth was open and a few moments more to shut it. Looking _anywhere_ but Alistair's face, she felt her cheeks heat. "But you're hurt and, er..." She trailed off, the single excuse she had gone.

Leaning forward to kiss her lightly, Alistair brushed back an unruly lock of hair. "I'm fine – I've slept for almost three solid days. I don't know what you've been doing, but I doubt sleeping is one of them." The corner of his mouth twitched as though he were suppressing a smile, and his expression had shifted giving him the slightest impression of mischief.

Letting out a quiet laugh, Valene nodded. "You're not far off." As she kicked off her boots and settled down, the niggling question of where she'd fit in a royal court tickled the back of her mind. Pushing it aside, she let herself sink into the familiar comfort of Alistair's arms.

For the first night since the attack, the dreams were gone.

* * *

_AN: With any luck, I'll have another up by Tuesday. Thank you again for your patience!_


	36. Chapter 35

The setting sun washed Redcliffe in the same orange-gold hue it had the night she first arrived, but it had changed. It was no longer the war-torn village she had left months ago, nor the half-repaired collection of buildings it had been when she'd set out to kill Flemeth and find the Elves. Even in the week since they had come back, it had change drastically and looked the part it was playing: the home of an army readying itself for war. Tents of all shapes, sizes and colors were strewn over any available land like strange, lopsided flowers, filled with mages or dwarves or liege men loyal to Eamon's arling. The Dalish had even arrived two nights before, aravels creaking and swaying, and already they were settled in, busying themselves while they fletched arrows and waxed bowstrings. The dwarves kept to their smithing and drink, occasionally casting scornful looks at the other races, as though they were uncertain of their purpose in battle. The local revered mother was furious to find mages on her doorstep, and had approached the castle with a lecture for Valene, the words changing little from day to day, until she could recite most of it back to the woman. Aside from that single protestor, the people of Redcliffe seemed grateful for the influx of goods and gold, both flowing freely as the army bought food and greatly needed raw supplies.

It wasn't just soldier's that wandered the streets. Refugees had poured in, with more arriving each day, many half-starved and weak from days on the road. The darkspawn were out in greater numbers than ever before, and Valene tried not to think about how many didn't make it. She'd been scouting the land outside of Redcliffe each day, usually only taking Sten and Leliana. They made a formidable team, quick to move, and between herself and the bard, most of the darkspawn they found were dead well before they were a threat. Sten was ruthless, charging into battle as arrows and spells flew around him, rarely emerging with more than a scratch. They'd saved at least a few families with their efforts, and it left her tired enough to sleep at night. The nightmares had stayed away, but her stomach twisted in knots any time she thought of the Landsmeet. They were leaving in three days' time, and Valene was dreading the journey to Denerim. When the sun rose each morning and she left the castle, she was fleeing Eamon as much as securing the land around Redcliffe. The Arl treated her with perfect respect and politeness, but rarely let her pass by without a disapproving look. They'd had one private discussion about the Landsmeet, and he'd had enough tact to not mention her relationship with Alistair directly, but there had been a pointed remark about a king's bastard needing to "demonstrate behavior appropriate for those of royal blood." The words had boiled _her_ blood in Eamon's blatant attempt to shame her out of Alistair's bed. The very _existence_ of a royal bastard meant the last king hadn't been chaste outside of his marriage. She knew his opposition had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with magic. It seemed the Arl was not so liberal as his brother when it came to mages. Her reply had been to excuse herself from dinners when the Arl was present. It was petty, but she couldn't do much more in the man's own castle.

"I do not see why we must participate in this political farce. Our force is superior." Sten's gravelly voice startled her – she'd been entirely wrapped in other worries.

Craning her neck up to meet his stern gaze as they trudged across the massive stone bridge that led to the castle, Valene scrunched her eyes closed in frustration. _If it's not one person, it's another_. "I've told you before – we're not going to kill perfectly good soldiers that can help us end the Blight, whether it's ours or theirs. And if you try and unite people by killing off their sons and fathers, you're just _begging_ for a rebellion." Politics wasn't her strong point, but this was one thing she'd managed to grasp fairly quickly.

There was a low grunt of disapproval. "It is foolish to squabble among yourselves when there is a greater threat."

Valene was quite certain Sten hadn't voluntarily said so many words together unless she'd pestered him for half an hour. "Considering the other side wants Alistair and I dead, compromise isn't exactly an option, is it?"

Sten stopped suddenly, and Valene nearly tripped over the tip of her heavy metal boots as she tried to slow her own steps. She'd finally managed to get the strange spell to work, and she'd even found bits and pieces of armor that mostly fit, but she still hadn't gotten used to the way the stiff metal caught on everything and seemed to slip on anything uneven. She had no idea how Alistair, Sten and Oghren had managed to navigate the forest in plate boots when she could barely walk over a bridge in splintmail.

A heavy hand pressed on her shoulder and Sten let out a slow, deep breath. "It is a wonder we did not conquer your kind when we first came." With that, the hand was gone, as quickly as it had come, and Sten was marching off to the castle without so much as a backwards glance.

A quick look at Leliana only drew a shrug. Letting out a soft sigh, Valene trudged on, the metal clinking against the grey stone. Dinner was _definitely_ going to be taken in her rooms. _Again_.

* * *

The gates of Denerim loomed above him, and Alistair felt a slight chill wash through him as he remembered the last time he had passed through them. Eamon's guard was on edge, hands on hilts, weapons eased ever-so-slightly in their sheaths, and their heads constantly turned as they took in the city and its people. Loghain hadn't rescinded the bounty on the Grey Wardens and it was in Denerim that his power and loyalty were most apparent. While they were officially guests of Arl Eamon, Alistair wasn't entirely sure that would deter an over-eager city guard wanting to prove himself.

Valene and Eamon were walking on either side of him, each a perfect picture of calm. He knew they'd been at each other's throats after the Arl had attempted to force an end to her relationship with Alistair. It was a bit ridiculous, in his opinion, and Eamon was entirely too concerned with the matter. Any marriage Alistair faced would take months to negotiate, longer still to plan, and until then he was perfectly happy ignoring what he would do when the moment arrived. Valene seemed to worry about it more, but she'd stood her ground despite Eamon's heavy-handedness in the matter, and for the moment, that was the best he could hope to have.

The sigh he let out caught Eamon's attention. "Stand up straight and smile, Alistair. If things go as we hope, you'll be their king – you don't want people remembering you as a slouchy grump, do you?" As Alistair ground his teeth he caught a noise of annoyance from Valene and felt a bit like a lamb caught between a wolf and a mountain cat. Eamon had kept him busy with "lessons" on politics and courtly manners, and while he could tell Valene was trying very hard to _not_ give him orders, she was failing rather spectacularly. Part of it was the way she said things, always worded in a way that _sounded _like a polite request, but he always heard them as orders. He still hadn't figured out if that was his fault or hers, or if both of them were so on edge they could hardly function the way the normally did. Even the corruption and filth of the Deep Roads hadn't been so wearing as the slow march from Redcliffe.

Biting back another sigh, Alistair trudged through the streets of Denerim, thankful that tonight he'd have thick walls and a door to hide behind. If the past few weeks had taught him anything, it was that tents made very poor sanctuaries.

* * *

It had been a long day and she'd spent all of it looking forward to bath. Visions of steaming water, hot enough to make her skin pink, had filled her head until she _almost_ hadn't noticed Eamon's snap at Alistair, but that one, single desire had been thwarted and not by something pleasant, like a hot meal and plenty of it. Loghain had decided to make a visit before she'd even had time to get out of the stifling splintmail. While she felt safer wearing it, it was warm in Denerim and the wool padding made it nearly insufferable. Even with Loghain standing in front of her so cocksure and going on about the Blight as though he had never protested its existence at Ostagar, she almost didn't care. Almost.

"It's such a shame to see such talent wasted on an order of traitors." Loghain seemed as though he was trying to sound smooth, but with a voice as rough as his, it only grated her nerves.

Quirking an eyebrow, Valene fixed her eyes on the woman at Loghain's side. It was likely Ser Cauthrien, Loghain's second, and if the stories were true, one of the most formidable fighters in Ferelden. Teagan had talked of her bluntly: Cauthrien would not be swayed and was not worth the effort to try. "Yes, it is." There was a moment were the Teyrn began to smile, but then he noticed where her gaze fell and frowned.

Loghain straightened – an act Valene hadn't thought possible, the way he had his chest thrown out and shoulders back, puffed with enough vanity to make _Zevran_ look modest – and fixed her with a stern look. "It's unwise to offend me in my city, _Warden_." Too annoyed to be intimidated, Valene shrugged and Loghain moved his gaze to Eamon. "And you, Eamon, throwing in with such a treacherous lot. There are some who wonder if your brain wasn't addled by months of illness."

At her side, Alistair moved as if to start forward, setting off every battle instinct she'd picked up in the near-year since leaving the tower, but Eamon spoke before either of them could do anything. "'This lot' has not only saved my life and my people, they have been amassing an army to fight against the Blight. What have _you_ done, aside from poison me and hire assassins? Collect hangers-on who agree to your every word?" The last was a nice little stab directed at the hook-nosed man that had accompanied the Teyrn. It was a relief to hear Eamon's voice raised at someone beside herself, and while Loghain's expression remained haughty, there was a slight shift in his posture, almost as if he was dismayed to be reminded of his actions.

Slightly turning to the well-dressed man at his side, Loghain gestured as though to introduce him. "Have your eyes failed you, as well as your wits? Surely you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Denerim, as well as Teyrn of Highever?" While Howe gave a smirking nod of his head, Eamon recoiled, but Valene had a face to match to a name. Rendon Howe had been mentioned, though the last two titles given were not among Teagan's notes. The family who had ruled Highever – the Couslands – had been killed shortly before Ostagar, and rumors had Arl Howe behind the action. Ambitious, ruthless, and loyal only to himself, Valene began to wonder at what other interesting company Loghain was keeping.

The insufferable smirk on Howes face brought a small laugh from Valene. While he may have tried to look smug about the whole ordeal, the way he held himself bespoke caution and not a little uncertainty as his eyes shifted from Loghain to Eamon to herself. "Three titles for _one_ man?" She let out a small snort. "I thought a general would know better than to put so much power into the hands of ambitious sycophants. Really Loghain, I was planning on you being much more impressive." A small part of her mind was still terrified he'd ordered them arrested, and antagonizing him hadn't been the best idea, but she was too tired and dirty to care.

"Quiet, _mage_. These men were defending Ferelden before you were born." Cauthrien's voice – if it _was_ Cauthrien - was a low hiss, and Valene had to bite her tongue _hard_ to keep the retort from spilling out of her mouth. Cauthrien was years older than herself, but Valene had no doubt the woman hadn't been off her mother's breast the last time Orlais had ruled Ferelden.

Loghain raised a hand as though he held command over both of them. "Cauthrien, that's enough." A small thrill went through Valene at remembering enough to guess who the woman was, but it was quickly cut short as the Teyrn continued, "I had thought better of you, Eamon. You insist on dividing the country for a bastard while a Blight rages. What would Rowan think of you? Your sister fought for Ferelden's freedom and safety, yet here you are, threatening everything she spent her life building."

There were only a few moments of silence, but Valene could feel the Arl tense during the pause, and as she slid her gaze towards Eamon she saw his jaw clench. When he spoke his voice was low and filled with emotion. "Do not invoke her name when you are the reason her only son lies dead."

"I will invoke any name I must if it will shake you of your ambitions for the throne. You divide the land when it must be strong." Every third word was punctuated with a sharp, downward gesture of his hand, and he'd shifted forward just enough for Valene to get an idea of _just_ how imposing the Hero of the River Dane could be. He didn't look like a man that was lying through his teeth, but she knew better and her patience for sarcastic insults was at an end.

Fixing Loghain with harsh eye, Valene straightened her shoulders. "Then put the last known Theirin – the _rightful _heir – on the throne as the rightful heir and join us. You are the regent, _you_ abandoned the field at Ostagar, yet you stand and deny Maric's own blood."

A small vein on Loghain's forehead seemed to pop as his face took on a reddish tinge, and when he spoke, he _yelled_. "And put it in the hands of some pet mage loyal to a group of foreigners? You wouldn't know half of what it takes to run an army, let alone command one."

Completely ignoring the last, valid point, Valene ground her teeth at being called "pet" anything. As she opened her mouth for her turn at yelling, Eamon settled a hand on her arm and shook his head once. "I can't look past your actions, Loghain, but I hope the Maker can. Ferelden was founded by King Calenhad and they deserve a king of his blood. Alistair is the one to lead us."

Alistair's earlier indignance suddenly evaporated, leaving behind a puddle of uncertainty. "Oh, right, sure. No pressure." Loghain gave them all a smug grin and Valene elbowed Alistair in the ribs, drawing a muffled protest.

Stepping forward, Loghain pointed a finger at Eamon, driving it at the man as he spoke. "The Orlesians were a more formidable force than you, and I drove them from Ferelden. Do not think I will hesitate to do the same to protect Ferelden from your designs." Turning on his heel, Loghain stalked towards the door, Cauthrien and Howe following closely at his heels. Each step they took towards the door made her feel a little bit safer.

When the heavy doors finally shut, Valene let out a quiet groan of exhaustion. Eamon launched into a lecture on the political situation and she quietly slipped away once she realized it was entirely directed at Alistair. She could finally have a bath.


	37. Chapter 36

As the pretty elf woman wrung her hands at his side, Eamon launched into a speech using the exact same tone he did when informing Valene of her duty to put Ferelden first. "We must rescue the Queen. If Howe tries to pin her death on us..." He trailed off meaningfully and gave Valene a stern look.

She didn't have her eyes on Eamon though; the Queen's maid, Erlina, had her full attention. "Eamon, could I have a word with you?" When he gestured for her to speak, she shook her head. "No, privately, if you will."

That drew a frown from Eamon and a bugged-eyed stair from Alistair, but the Arl motioned to the bedroom off of the study. When they were finally inside, Valene shut the door behind them, not caring how odd it might look. "Speak quickly, Warden, we don't have much time to lose."

Flinching at the title, Valene turned towards the man and let out a slow breath. "First, my name is not 'Warden', it's Valene. Second, are you out of your mind? You think we can trust this woman when she tells us we _must_ sneak into Howe's estate to rescue the Queen? This has 'trap' written all over it. I don't trust her and I don't trust the Queen."

Eamon let out a deep sigh and shook his head. "Listen, War- Valene. I don't like this anymore than you do, but I remember seeing this woman by Anora's side at the last Landsmeet I attended. She's _Orlesian_ and Loghain would never send a foreigner to lay a trap, no matter how much Howe might favor the idea. I still don't feel comfortable with this, but I feel it is the only way to sway the Queen to our side."

"That's easy for you to say when _you_ get to stay here with all of your guards while I sneak into that slimy bastard's home. I've seen more of Howe's men in the city than I have the city guard. If we get caught, the Queen could easily get killed and you blamed." Her voice had risen half an octave and Valene realized she was practically yelling as well.

None of it fazed the Arl, however, and he crossed his arms across his chest. "If we don't have the Queen's support, putting Alistair on the throne may be impossible. We must have her supporting his claim if the Landsmeet is to go well."

Eamon had aimed low and struck hard, and Valene could almost _feel_ the impact of the words as her stomach tangled in knots. Moments passed before she let out a sigh and turned back towards the door. "Fine. I'll do it. But Alistair is staying here."

* * *

"I'm not a child!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Alistair winced, realizing how childish they actually were.

Grey eyes settled on his and he could see the concern in an otherwise smooth face. "I know that. I don't trust this whole plan and if it's their way of trying to get their hands on the only Wardens in Ferelden, I'm not going to give them that chance. However, Eamon finds it important enough that I'm willing to risk it. If you can go to the Landsmeet as a Warden _and_ Cailan's heir, then there's a chance of winning and ending the Blight. If both of us are gone, there's _nothing_."

Kicking a table leg in frustration, Alistair let out a quiet curse. "Why do_ you_ get to risk your life while you tuck me away like I'm some sort of fragile piece of Orlesian dinnerware? I'm not going to break." _I love you, you stubborn woman_. He'd felt the same way at Redcliffe when she'd run around the countryside helping refugees. He still hadn't had enough strength at that point, but watching her wander off without a healer or guards, just Leliana and Sten, had left him a worried mess until she returned each night. Now, he only wished he had the choice between Howe and darkspawn. He'd take an ogre over a castle full of guardsmen any day.

Valene gave him a soft smile. "I've never thought you were breakable. But you would be a valuable prize if they catch you. I'm not letting that happen." She let out a slow breath as she held her hand out to him. He took it in his own and pulled her towards him, hugging her tight. He needed her and he couldn't find the words to _tell _her, so he simply held her, trying to force everything into memory. She smelled like soap and leather, and she was warm in his arms, her body pressed tightly against his. He hated all of the political maneuverings and cursed his father for not having more children; Cailan for not having any. It simply wasn't _fair._

One of her hands slid into his hair, pulling him down and when her lips met his there was a moment he could forget everything else but her. A quiet knock at the door shattered the moment, but even with the sudden interruption Valene pulled away reluctantly before turning to answer the door. It was Leliana, telling her the others were ready.

As she picked up her gauntlets, Valene gave Alistair a quick smile. "I love you. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone." Alistair just nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat as he she disappeared. Letting out a breath he didn't remember holding, Alistair leaned on the writing table for support, trying to ignore the queasiness that had settled into his stomach. _She'll be fine, she's capable, and she's not going alone_. It was a small comfort, but the three she had selected were well-suited to her needs. Sten and Leliana were both deadly, if entirely different in style, and Wynne would be there to heal if anything went amiss. Zevran was to trail behind to see if they were followed. She'd be safe.

* * *

Zevran eyed the narrow side alley warily – it was an excellent place for an ambush, even if he hadn't seen anything too alarming. A few thugs lingered here and there, but so far, they hadn't interfered or followed. As much as he would have preferred to stay to areas that were not quite so unsavory, he also knew it was the easiest way to avoid the city guard. From what Zevran understood, the sergeant in charge was more interested in people who stole food from others than he was in rumors about Grey Wardens as traitors, but it was better to be cautious than dead.

Forty paces ahead, he saw Valene stop, along with the others, and Zev frowned. They had agreed to no stops, no delays, unless someone was bleeding. Jogging towards them, he felt his mouth go dry as a familiar face came into view. _Taliesin._

"Tell the Crows he's not to be bothered anymore." Zev allowed himself a quiet laugh at Valene's adamant declaration. She was certainly loyal.

Taliesin had finally caught sight of Zevran and fixed him with a familiar smile. "Here I am, Taliesin. You have no need to pester the lovely Warden about me."

Brown eyes settled on his and Taliesin gave a smile. "Zev, I'd heard you were alive and running around with your former mark. I can hardly believe it's true, though."

Every instinct honed by the Crows through his years of training was straining to find any movement, any inflection that might hint at Taliesin's intent. The man looked at ease, and Zevran couldn't quite make out whether the slightly-shifting shadows were more assassins or simply his mind playing tricks on him. So many months outside of cities had dulled his ability to see without really looking. He knew Taliesin's training – even the slightest glance from Zevran would show weakness, uncertainty. He kept his eyes fixed.

"Stranger things have happened, my old friend. What brings you to Ferelden?" He knew the answer, but every moment spent talking was a moment Zevran might glimpse an assassin carelessly moving. His old friend was far too clever to confront him and the Warden alone.

Taliesin smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "To fetch you, of course. If we finish the job and return to Antiva, no one will be the wiser."

The uneasy feeling in Zevran's stomach twisted _hard_, and his memories of Rinna threatened to overwhelm. He'd never loved Taliesin the way he had loved Rinna, but it hadn't kept them from sharing pleasures. He counted Taliesin as a friend – one of only a few – and now he stood between him and the woman who had spared his life.

Zev took note of Valene's stiff posture – she was standing so still he could barely tell if she was breathing. She didn't have her staff for fear of drawing too much attention, but she was clutching the sword at her hip tightly. It was clear she was on guard, but her attention was focused on Taliesin, and she hadn't given Zevran a single glance. She trusted him, still. He would return that trust.

* * *

The sword was unwieldy and at such close range, Valene could barely swing the blade without coming dangerously close to nicking Sten or Zevran. Dropping the blade in frustration, Valene gathered her magic and coated Taliesin in a thin layer of ice. It was strange, fighting without a staff, and she could tell her spells were weak in comparison. Still, it was better than accidentally stabbing someone she needed alive.

A sudden jolt of pain went through her leg, and Valene let out a frustrated cry. Looking down she could see a crossbow bolt sticking out of her thigh. Cursing quietly, she turned to face the attacker, drawing on the Fade for a spell. A second bolt buried itself in her calf and her leg buckled as she fell hard to one knee. The noise had drawn Sten's attention, and he was charging down the slim woman who held the crossbow. Gritting her teeth and trying to concentrate through the pain, Valene cast, turning half of the woman to stone. The spell was not nearly as strong or complete as it should have been, but it was enough. Asala flashed down, ending the woman's life with one single blow. Sten flowed to the next assassin, nicking the man's arm just as he darted away. One of Leliana's arrows caught him in the chest, and the man went down with a quiet burble.

The all-too-familiar thud of a body on stone sounded behind her, and Valene jumped, turning as best she could, the bolts in her leg raging at the movement. Taliesin stared up at her with glassy eyes, blood flowing around one of Zevran's daggers. Zevran himself was wearing a look of cold resignation and remained still for several moments. She hadn't been entirely certain he'd side with her, but she was grateful her earlier trust had been well-placed.

Wynne was suddenly at her side, muttering under her breath about assassins. All of them had only worn old, light armor, something they could afford to leave behind if they had to flee Arl Howe's estate. The leather was a blessing and a curse now – easy to cut away, but it had offered little resistance and the slightest flex of her leg was excrutiating.

It was only when Valene let out a low grunt of pain that Zevran seemed to come out of his reverie. He fixed his eyes on her for a moment before moving to her side. His deft fingers moved quickly as he helped Wynne with the armor, and he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "It seems I have an opportunity to truly escape the Crows. If I were to leave it, they would think me dead along with him." With the last he gave a small jerk of his head towards Taliesin.

A sudden twist of the bolt in her calf made Valene's vision go white, and _just_ as blackness threatened to overwhelm the pain subsided. Gasping for breath, Valene did her best to focus on the blonde elf. "Zev... can we talk about this when I'm not getting things pulled out of me?"

He leaned on her leg then, and her low curse was cut off by a choking cry as Wynne _pushed_ one of the bolts through her calf. Tiny, bright flecks danced in her eyes, the sun above suddenly painfully bright. Zev's voice cut through the haze of pain, accent thicker than she remembered. "I can hardly deny the request of a beautiful, bleeding woman, yes? We shall talk tonight, after this nonsense with the queen is over."

Magic swept into the open wound, soothing away the pain even as she could _feel_ her flesh knit together, the sickening sensation of air on bared muscle slowly fading away. Letting out a slow breath of relief, Valene could only nod.

* * *

Sten frowned at the slight woman as she pointed to the pile of chainmail meant for him. It was only slightly different from the chain the others were pulling on now. "These are nearly large enough for me." The slightest of smiles curved her mouth before she saw the look on his face, and suddenly she was wringing her hands again.

"This does not please you?" There was an odd sort of fear to her eyes, as though she expected to be eaten at any moment, and her high-pitched voice soared even higher, hurting his ears.

Grunting as he pulled the chain shirt over his head, Sten let out a low sigh. "I did not think humans would be as large as myself." He was usually not so generous with words, but this cringing thing before him seemed to only respond to an abundance of speech.

The elf glanced around nervously before nodding once. "Yes, the Arl has mercenaries as well as guardsmen, and some of them are qunari."

His suspicions confirmed, Sten lightly kicked his helm in disgust. "They are _tal'vashoth_, traitors in the skin of true qunari." None of these humans or elves seemed to understand that, no matter how hard he tried to explain it to them. The _kadan_ understood how much it angered him, but didn't seem to care much. To her, they were more obstacles, if bigger, stronger and smarter than her usual foes.

"Sten, just get the armor on. We need to be quick." The _kadan_'s tone was impatient and clipped, with the slightest undertone of pain. She hadn't limped since the mage had removed both of the bolts, but he'd caught snatches of a muttered string of curses since leaving the dead body of the assassin's former allies.

With a grunt, Sten did as she asked, but not without giving her a disapproving glare. She caught his gaze and nodded her head in understanding. "I don't like it either, but the quicker the better."

He returned the nod with one of his own before settling the helm on his head. It was too tight, and the idea that it had been made for a _tal'vashoth_ repulsed him, but the _kadan_ was right. Even in a country as backwards as Ferelden, a queen had to count for _something_.


	38. Chapter 37

The life in the guard's eyes faded quickly, and the grimy hands gripping his head let go, the body hitting the ground with a low thud. The same hands darted out to tug at the keys on the belt, unlocking the door with a loud click. Sten moved forward, but Valene held out a hand, entranced and unable to shake the sensation that she could _feel_ the person in the cell. It was uncomfortably familiar. She'd noticed an odd sort of awareness with Alistair grow slowly over the last months, but she'd assumed it was something that came with being lovers, or being a mage and spending too much time around one person. That intimate familiarity was there again, but she whoever was in the cell had to be a stranger.

When the man stepped out, he looked directly at Valene and gave a small smile. "Thank you for the distraction. I'd been waiting for such an opportunity."

Realizing she was gaping, Valene closed her mouth with a click. The accent was Orlesian, the face strange, but that feeling was still there. He had a look about him that tickled the back of her mind, but couldn't _quite_ place it. "I could have been another guard! How did you know you could trust me before you even saw me?"

The man raised an eyebrow at her as he let out a low chuckle. "I can sense a fellow Warden. Even one so new as yourself should be able to feel something." When she didn't reply, he shrugged and continued on. "You are Duncan's recruit from the Tower, yes? You match his description well enough. My name is Riordan. He wrote to me shortly before leaving Kinloch Hold."

The words sank into her mind and Valene felt a mix of apprehension and relief creep into her. The man – Warden – had known Duncan, and he might know things about the order she and Alistair had never had the chance to find out. Still, she'd grown so used to commanding, the idea of someone taking over the army she had built, of using _her_ hard work for their own means, made her bristle a little.

Reluctantly, she nodded her head. "I am. My name is Valene." Wynne cleared her throat suddenly, and Valene finally took a good look at the man before her. His cheeks were hollow, his skin pale, his eyes dull. He looked weak, and for all his appearance of relief in having found another Warden, she could see his limbs tremble with the effort of standing. Motioning to Wynne, Valene stepped aside. "Wynne is a mage as well. She can heal you." Riordan's shoulders relaxed slightly and he nodded.

As the familiar glow of healing surrounded Wynne's hands, Valene tried to make sense of the sudden appearance of another Grey Warden. _When had he come? Why weren't there more Wardens? How had he ended up in a cell?_ Most importantly, though, was what would happen _now_? She'd grown used to leading, and almost a year of hard work had paid off with an army loyal to_ her_. Eyeing the Orlesian warily, Valene began to wonder just _what_ months of politics and battle had done to her. She'd spared an assassin, and now she was questioning the trustworthiness of a man who was an ally.

Banishing her concerns to the back of her mind, Valene told herself she had to trust the other Warden. Queasy feeling or no, he was another ally at a time when there were few enough to be found, fewer still who might know how to end a Blight.

* * *

Arrow nocked and breathing shallow, Leliana felt as if the stone walls and ceilings were pressing in on her, the stench of blood and decay bringing back memories she'd tried so hard to forget. She couldn't suppress the feeling that she was alone down here, even with the others so close by. Tools and contraptions made to maim without killing were strewn about the dungeon and every surface carried a dark stain of blood.

Worse was the sick feeling of uncertainty – whether they would get out alive, whether they could save the queen. Dominating them all was Zevran's sudden request to leave. He hadn't given her a second glance, instead turning straight to the Warden for permission. It wasn't a betrayal on the scale of Marjolaine, but she felt very much the spurned fool. There was no spoken agreement between them, but she had assumed the affection had grown in him, just as it had in her.

A door opened and a guard appeared, and in the moment it took for him to get over his shock at seeing strangers in the dungeon, Leliana had finished drawing the bow in one swift movement, and as the string twanged against her fingers, the man began to shout. The arrow buried itself in his neck, cutting off the cry with a gurgle.

Nocking another arrow, Leliana drew it back to full strength, following Sten and Valene as they entered the side-room, both of them bringing death to the startled guards. The qunari cut and the mage cast, and Leliana sent her arrows to aid them.

When the guards lay dead at their feet, Leliana moved quickly, collecting what arrows she could. Grim as the task was, it would keep her quiver full and her friends alive. The dungeon had not claimed her years ago, and she would not let it – or Zevran – distract her now.

* * *

Valene's heart was pounding so hard she could feel the throb in her ears. They'd found the mage – and the Arl – and they only had to reach the queen. The corridor was strangely quiet, the shuffle of regular patrols gone. It made her skin itch, but as far as she could tell, there was nothing amiss.

Ducking into the small alcove that held the door to the queen, Valene let out a long breath of relief; the magic shield was gone. Two light knocks on the wood brought only a moment of suspense before the latch turned to reveal Erlina. A lovely, golden-haired woman stood behind her, hands neatly folded in front of her. She wore all but the helm of a guard, but she held herself as though the world was ready to fall at her feet. Inclining her head with a slight bow, Valene suddenly felt very aware of every drop of blood on her armor and face. "Your majesty."

The queen smiled and nodded her head ever so slightly. "Warden." There was the slightest hint of uncertainty in her tone, but when Valene nodded, it quickly disappeared. "It is good to see you here. I am grateful for your efforts."

Nodding absently as her eyes scanned the queen's room, Valene allowed herself a small smile. "If you're ready, we should leave now. We've been here longer than we expected, and I want to get back to Arl Eamon before it gets dark." The glimpses of light she'd caught from a small window in coming up from the dungeon had shown her a sky well into evening. They'd come shortly after mid-day, but the magical barrier had cost them more time than she ever should have planned. They had been due back at Eamon's estate half an hour ago.

The queen place a guard's helm on her head as carefully as thought it were a crown, then stepped out of the room, eyes fixed on Valene. Even under the woman's calculating gaze, she couldn't suppress the smile that was slowly growing wider. Eamon had been right to trust Erlina and they had gained a strong ally. Everything was going to be alright.

* * *

Wynne watched the smile slide from Valene's face as they entered the main hall. Her own stomach felt as though it had dropped somewhere below her knees, and for all the armor she was wearing, Wynne felt as naked as newborn. The woman who had come to Arl Eamon's estate – Caulrien? Cauthen? – stood before them, a dozen men with crossbows, aimed squarely at the Warden, and two mages that lurked in the shadow of the door. Wynne remembered the bolts she'd pushed – and pulled – from Valene just hours earlier and let out a shudder.

The woman spoke, her smile cold, her tone smug. "I'm only interested in you, _Warden_. If you come peacefully, your... people may leave."

Valene's eyes moved slowly down the line of guards and Wynne couldn't help the twitch of her eyebrow. The woman was _counting?_ Wynne knew at a glance they were so badly outnumbered that escaping with their lives would be all but impossible. Valene was a powerful mage, but _no_ mage could face so many at once and live, not without blood magic or enough lyrium to drive them mad.

The Warden's shoulders slumped a little, and she let out a quiet sigh. "I'll go." Sten let out a low growl, but Valene turned to him, hissing at him in a whisper even Wynne could barely make out. "Get _her_ back to Arl Eamon." Valene's gaze had momentarily slid to Anora, but was now fixed on the towering qunari. "And keep Alistair out of trouble until the Landsmeet." He moved as if to speak but she shook her head sharply. "That's an _order_, Sten."

Sten glowered at her a few moments before his jaw clenched tighter and he gave a curt nod. "Very well, _kadan_." The words were spoken through gritted teeth and Wynne could see his hands flexing in frustration. It was only the second time she had seen him display emotion so openly, but it was more terrifying this now – she was so close she could hear his teeth grinding against each other.

As the woman began reading off the charges – treason, regicide, murder - Wynne could only stand and watch, suddenly understanding Valene's careful consideration of their odds. If Arl Howe's dungeon was any indication, prisoners under Loghain's rule could only expect the worse, if they survived at all.

An iron grip closed around her wrist as Sten pulled her out of the room, his face a terrifying mask of furrowed brows and fierce violet eyes. She could only force her feet to move, stumbling along as best she could, her eyes transfixed on Valene as the guards slowly advanced on the woman. Before they turned the hall, the Warden had disappeared, lost in a mass of guards.

* * *

Zevran slipped from his place in the shadows when he saw Sten, momentary relief crushed by the sense that something was _wrong_. As the others appeared the feeling deepened, and Zev abandoned his usual caution and jogged over to the qunari. "What has happened? Where is the Warden?"

Sten only growled and continued on his way, pushing past Zevran with a rather unnecessary shove. Frowning, Zevran began walking with Wynne, looking over his shoulder once in the vain hope Valene would show her face. "Tell me what has happened."

The mage was pale-faced and he could see her hands trembling as she walked. "Loghain's second was there. Valene gave herself up."

Zev said nothing, not quite believing the words, but as they wound their way through shadowed back alleys, Valene did not join them. The Warden was gone.

* * *

"You're going to wear a hole in my rug, Alistair. Sit down." Eamon was entirely too confident in the whole thing and his dismissal made Alistair's jaw clench. Valene and the others should have been back more than two hours ago, but there was no word and no queen.

Pointedly ignoring the Arl's command, Alistair turned on his heel and paced the length of the floor again. A small part of him was trying to stay calm and confident, but with the rest of him panicking, it wasn't doing much good.

There was a low knock at the door, and Alistair darted to it before Eamon had even moved to stand. Flinging it open, Alistair didn't even care that he'd startled the maid standing there. "What is it? Are they back?"

The maid blinked a few moments before nodding quickly. "Y-yes, ser Alistair. The queen is here." The woman was looking anywhere but him, and her hands were gripping her apron tightly.

"Wonderful!" Alistair smiled, hoping the woman would calm down. "Show the queen and Valene up here. Eamon wants to speak with them." This was one thing Eamon had been adamant about – Alistair was _not_ to run down the stairs like a giddy fool. Since the Arl was still rather annoyed about Alistair's relationship with Valene, he had promised him he would keep any and all displays of affection to places the queen wasn't present.

The maid chewed on her lip a bit before letting out a small cough. "I... I would do as you ask, ser, but the other Warden isn't here. Shall I just fetch the queen?"

Alistair felt as though the ground beneath him had lurched to a sudden standstill and he leaned heavily on the doorframe, mind racing. "Valene... isn't here?" His voice cracked at the last word and he could feel his heart beat quickly and light, his breath fast and shallow.

The maid shook her head, taking half a step _away_ from him. "N-no, ser. I'll just go get the queen." With that the woman turned and scurried down the hall, leaving Alistair standing in shock.

As his mind churned, he had a vague awareness that Eamon was speaking, but he could only stand motionless. The earlier worry had turned into a tight, painful knot in his stomach. Eamon had been _wrong_.


	39. Chapter 38

_AN: There is torture in this chapter, though I have refrained from graphic descriptions in keeping with a T rating. Thanks again for following and commenting!_

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* * *

_

Valene felt the heat on her cheeks as the last of her clothes were taken from her. Cauthrien was watching her with cold eyes, mouth turned into a frown. "Warden, you have an hour to confess to your crimes and give me information on the Orlesian Wardens. After that..." Cauthrien trailed off meaningfully and nodded to the guards.

Feeling small – and _very_ vulnerable – Valene swallowed hard. She didn't know what the woman wanted, but she _did_ know she had nothing she could say that would help. Shivering in the cool air of the dungeon, she barely avoided the urge to shift from foot to foot. The floor was rough and grimy, and the bracers on her wrists cold against her skin. She'd seen them once before, used on a mage convicted of blood magic. The runes embedded in them sapped a mage's ability to touch the fade, and she was no different. For all her earlier bravado, the panic was beginning to overpower her will, filling her head with fear.

"I don't know anything. And I'm not _guilty_ of what you claim." Even Howe's death hadn't been cold-blooded murder – it was justice long overdue. "You were there, Cauthrien, you saw Loghain abandon-" Red bloomed in her vision as the other woman's gauntlet connected with her jaw, and by the time her mind cleared, she realized she was on the floor, jaw throbbing painfully. A sudden kick in the ribs made her double over as she gasped for breath, the air suddenly gone from her lungs.

"Such talk is _treason_. Loghain saved those men from your Wardens' folly, just as he will save Ferelden." Cauthrien's voice was a low hiss, and when Valene heard the sound of chainmail on plate, she flinched again, but no blow came.

Daring a glance, she turned her gaze towards Cauthrien to find the woman looming over her with a scowl. "I gave you a chance for mercy, Warden." With that, she turned to the other guards, "Sergeant, get what you can out of her. I want a confession, which means I need her alive and coherent enough to talk." When the man nodded and began to grin, Cauthrien grabbed his arm. "If I hear you've had 'fun' with this one, I will personally cut off anything involved. Do you understand?"

The man's mouth worked for a few moments before he grimaced, "Yes, ser." For all of Cauthrien's harshness, Valene felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards the woman. Maybe, just _maybe_, she could face whatever they had in mind. She could only hope.

* * *

"_Parshaara_. The _kadan_ spoke. You are to stay here." Sten's minimal patience with the other Warden was completely gone, but the man still continued to press him.

"I don't care _what_ she said; I'm not leaving her in Fort Drakon to _rot_!" The blonde man moved to leave, but Sten stood his ground, blocking the door with his bulk. The human made an effort to push Sten aside, but it was very much like being pushed by a child. He was certainly sulky enough to qualify.

The bard stood up then and cleared her throat. "I'll go. I'm not inexperienced when it comes to getting into places I don't belong." This was said with a glare at the elf, who pretended not to notice.

Alistair punched Sten half-heartedly, and with that the qunari let out a low grunt. "You are very foolish." Picking up the other man by the shoulders, Sten raised him to eye level before shaking him lightly.

The blonde man looked frantic now, and not a little scared. _Good_. "You. Are. _Staying._ If you press me further I will _sit_ on you." Sten wanted to break the Warden's arm, but he thought such an action might upset the _kadan_.

Paling, the Warden let out a squeak – _not_ the sound of a warrior – and nodded once. Sten abruptly let go of the man, and he fell to the floor with a loud thump. "Ow! That hurt!"

Ignoring the injured human, Sten turned his gaze to the bard. "You cannot expect to manage this alone." He would not have been surprised if that was her plan. All of these races seemed rash, when they weren't being weak. As if to affirm Sten's impression, the dwarf decided to belch loudly just as the bard opened her mouth to speak.

Frowning, she shook her head. "No, I need someone else." Her eyes flicked to the two mages in the room. "Valene might need a healer."

The two mages looked at each other for a few moments, before the younger one shrugged and stepped forward. "She has done me a service. 'Tis time I repay her."

As the bard nodded and began to query the Arl over Fort Drakon, Sten's frown deepened. The bard wasn't entirely useless, but she wasn't a warrior either. And the younger mage seemed more likely to save her _own_ life rather then rescue another, but there was little he could do. _He_ had been tasked to play nurse to an emotional man-child the _kadan_ seemed to love.

Grunting in displeasure, he found himself _hoping_ the slight human woman would be back to lead. A year ago, the very idea would have been laughable, but now it was the best that could happen.

_Vashedan._

_

* * *

_

The stone was cold and rough and covered in dark stains, but she clung to it as best she could, trying to writhe _into_ it as she heard footsteps approach. Her shoulders throbbed, her wrists were raw, chafed by the bracers and the chains looped over a hook to hold her in place. The ache and the sound were all too familiar, but she could never_ really_ ready herself for what they had done. What they would do again.

Heat, sudden and searing, shot along her back in a long straight line, and her knees buckled at the pain. Hot tears were streaming down her face, and when she finally found her voice, it came out in a shriek.

Suddenly it was over and she was panting hard, legs barely supporting her. There was a low chuckle and the sergeant's familiar face came into view. "Ready to confess?" He was starring at her with a half-smile and muddy hazel eyes, _waiting_ for a moment of weakness.

Licking her lips, Valene shook her head. "No."

The hazel eyes darkened.

* * *

Alistair was pacing the floor again, this time in his rooms. Eamon had told him to rest, but sleep wasn't _possible_. Leliana had it all worked out – she would steal a couple of priest robes and they'd go in the afternoon. The idea of _waiting_ was making him seethe, but Sten had seen to it that his door was locked from the outside, and when he had tried to inexpertly pick the lock the qunari had hit the door so hard Alistair had seen dust come off the hinges. The window was too high, there was no rope, and he was well and truly stuck.

Fighting the urge to pick up a small porcelain figurine and fling it against he wall, Alistair turned on his heel and paced. He would have to wait.

* * *

Time had ceased to matter to Valene, but she could see the tiniest slip of sky through a window high in the chamber. The sky was the strange, pale yellow-blue of dawn. Had she been there such a short time? Morning came early this time of year, and she felt as though she had been abused for _days_, not hours.

Wood groaned and sharpness replaced the throb in her hip. She was stretched out, each wrist and ankle bound while they tested her endurance. The wood creaked again and she felt the tugging pain shoot through her other leg. Closing her eyes, Valene took in a slow breath, _waiting_ for what would come next.

It wasn't like the other times, though. She heard wood grind _twice_, heard the guard curse and felt her shoulder suddenly wrenched _hard_. Her vision blackened around the edges as everything else that hurt seemed to fade away in the bright pain blooming in her shoulder. It was only when the awful pulling sensation ceased that her senses cleared enough for her to hear the hoarse scream that snaked out between sobs.

The pulling did not relent, but it was not worsened. Her back was arched now, making it hard to breathe, her legs and arms stretched until every joint and bit of muscle felt as though it would burst apart.

The sergeant's face – familiar, even upside down – peered down at her from the edge of the rack. "Enjoying yourself? No? You can end it now, all of it." That crooked smile looked like a frown, from her vantage point, and Valene could only find the strength to close her eyes.

He knew what her answer was, even with such minimal movement, and clucked his tongue once. "What a pity." He disappeared and the pain surged through her with renewed vengeance.

* * *

Leliana had spent more time as a bard than a sister, but she still couldn't shake the feeling of _wrongness_ that hung over her. The sisters at the Chantry had been kind to her since she first arrived nearly an hour ago, and the two sets of robes sitting in her pack felt much heavier than they should have. Years as a bard told her stealing was sometimes necessary, while years in a Chantry told her it was wrong. In the end it came down to a bit of theft or leaving Valene to Fort Drakon.

It was a small price to pay. The Maker would understand.

* * *

Cauthrien did not like dungeons, but Loghain had instructed her to keep a close eye on the Warden. He wanted her broken and ready to confess, but he did _not_ wish to have a martyr on his hands. She found torture distasteful, but she at least understood the need for it. Still, she would rather be in battle, a sword in her hand, army at her back and a clearly defined enemy falling under her blade. There was honor in that, even for the fallen.

There was a low wail and Cauthrien frowned. The Warden didn't deserve this, even with the crimes laid at her feet. She had killed no innocents – even the Arl had been found with a sword in his hand. The woman had also come peacefully, even when the guards had handled her roughly. Leaving her to the night watch had felt... cowardly.

"No, please, no. No!" The sudden plea was accompanied by the sounds of violent struggling. Cauthrien could hear a few muffled words before the Warden's voice rose again, this time a wordless cry of frustration accompanied by the sound of feet pounding on wood.

Furrowing her brow, Cauthrien started down the steps when a piercing scream echoed off the stone. Quickening her pace to a near-jog, she rounded the corner to find the Warden clutching at her hand and sobbing. Bright red covered the woman's wrist and arm, and when she realized what had happened, Cauthrien turned her gaze to the sergeant. "You great, stupid oaf! You were told to get information, not maim her!" Shoving the man aside, Cauthrien carefully pried the injured hand from the woman. The smallest finger on the right hand was missing and she felt her stomach churn. She had done worse to others, but not when they lay helpless – Cauthrien didn't have the stomach for torture.

Stepping back in disgust, Cauthrien turned on the sergeant. "Cauterize the wound. If the shock doesn't kill her, put her in a cell, then report to the captain. All of you." There was a low grumble from the four men, and not a few glares directed at the Warden. "I don't want another mark on her. Now go. And be quick."

Cauthrien stayed until the wound was seared, then strode off to the captain's office. She had to get this mess sorted out before it was too late in the day. Loghain wanted her back by evening. She wasn't one to disappoint.

* * *

Leliana crouched over one of the dead guards and murmured a short prayer as she closed the man's eyes. There was a derisive snort behind her and Leliana resisted the urge to snap. "Taking our disguises so seriously?" The Chantry robes had gotten them through every last door, and Leliana had successfully predicted a time most guards would be at supper.

She was beginning to wish Morrigan hadn't been so quick to volunteer – it certainly hadn't been expected. Wynne had looked tired though, and Leliana supposed Morrigan was the more useful when it came to actually fighting. She still couldn't get used to the way the woman _slid_ into the shape of a spider or bear.

Wiping off her blades on the dead man's tunic before standing up, Leliana made her way to the closed door on the other side of the room. It was unlocked – strange for a place that was supposedly concerned with security. Opening it a few inches, she peered into the long hallway. Clear.

Motioning for Morrigan to follow her, Leliana carefully moved down the hall, the slight sounds growing louder as she did. She was moving blind, unfamiliar with the fort, but something was pulling her _left_. With any luck, the Maker would smile on her.

* * *

Valene was tired down to her _bones_, but every time she began to drift off a violent shiver would run through her, jolting her shoulder. It didn't respond whenever she tried to move it, and lay useless at her side. She couldn't warm up, not half naked and slumped against cold stone. The throb in her hand seemed to resonate through her whole body with every heart beat, echoing the pulse in her shoulder. It still hadn't sunk in - she felt whole, but any time she looked the finger just wasn't _there._

From what she could see of daylight, she'd been in the cell of hours. Even that was a small mercy, though – at least she was alone There was a snore off to her right and she glanced over at the sleeping man in the next cell. _Not _quite_ alone_. He'd seemed decent enough, and when he heard she'd killed Arl Howe he'd balked at calling it a crime. He, too, bore marks – deep welts, bruises about his face, and half-healed gash across his stomach.

Valene heard the door to the chamber click and turned her head just enough to see out of the corner of her eye. A flash of red hair caught her attention and she shifted, ignoring the burning sensation that flared in her shoulder. Leliana, clad in _Chantry_ robes of all things, was dealing out death, a flash of steel so quick, Valene couldn't quite make out the individual blades. At her side was a great bear, setting into the guard with a ferocity that made her blood run cold.

When the guards finally lay dead, the bear shrunk, contorting into Morrigan's shape once more. "Maker's _breath_, what _is_ she." The man in the cell had awoken, his voice a mix of fear and awe.

Smiling softly, Valene struggled to her feet as Leliana picked the keys off the guards' belt. "A friend."


	40. Chapter 39

Wynne frowned at Alistair before letting out a slow sigh, "She still has to eat, so you can't see her until she's finished, but – hey!"

Too impatient to listen to her instruction, Alistair pushed past her and slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. He hesitated a moment, wanting to lock it, but he decided against it at the last moment. He was fairly certain Wynne would hunt down Leliana to pick the lock - she'd refused to let him in until Valene's healing was to her satisfaction, and she needed to eat. He still didn't know what had happened – Morrigan had only grimaced when he'd asked, while had Wynne shaken her head and cursed Loghain quietly.

Valene was in bed, eyes half-closed, but there was a small smile curving her lips, "Alistair."

Hearing her voice – _seeing_ her – was almost like walking into a dream. It had only been two days, but he hadn't slept, had hardly eaten and his head was so fuzzy he felt as if he were halfway into the Fade. It didn't look like her – not the way he was used to seeing her. She was pale, her lids heavy and violet circles ringed her eyes. There was a painful-looking bruise on her cheek that made him wince to even look at.

He realized he was staring and shifted uncomfortably, "I thought Wynne had healed you." He moved forward until he was at her side and gently touched the bruise on her face. She flinched a little at even the feather-light touch and withdrew his hand.

"And Morrigan. They left anything minor for now and said they'd heal the rest in a day or two." She smiled and let out a short laugh. "They know me too well."

He felt a smile ghost across his lips and tried to tear his eyes away from the purple-black skin. "How are you feeling?" It was a stupid thing to ask, but he had to say _something_, even if he wanted to scoop her up and hold her and make her _promise_ she wouldn't leave him again. It was a stupid thing to want, even more stupid to ask, but he couldn't shake the creeping guilt that told him he should have been with her, that he could've _done_ something.

Snaking an arm out from under the covers, Valene reached for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "Tired. Sore. Hungry." Her thumb brushed over his skin and he felt a small shiver run down his spine. "Happy to see you. I asked for you, but..." She trailed off and smiled.

He nodded and gave her a grin. "I had the same problem. Well, Sten was part of it where I was concerned."

She looked away and her cheeks flushed slightly, but he could've sworn he saw a small smirk. "Leliana said he'd been... effective. I had to give orders, fast. I didn't expect him to barricade you in your room." He could only nod, swallowing the lump in his throat, as the question burned there. He had to know.

"Why – why did you give up? Sten said you surrendered without a fight and I... I don't understand it." The others had said little, only shaking their heads with tight-lipped smiles when he asked if they'd fought. He'd thought it was _their_ failing until Sten had told him otherwise.

Valene let out a quiet sigh as her shoulders slumped. "Because fighting would've been pointless. There were too many people and we had to worry about getting the queen out." He raised a questioning eyebrow – this, coming from the woman who decided killing a centuries-old witch was something to be accomplished with little worry.

"What, did Cauthrien have the Archdemon on a leash?" She laughed at that and shook her head.

"No, but there were just too many guardsmen. Someone would've been killed. I thought it was better to go without a fight." She looked away then, and fidgeted a little before continuing. "That was a little too... optimistic of me."

His hand raised to the bruise again, not _quite _touching it. "What did they do?" He wanted to know, _needed_ to know. He'd had a dozen scenarios run through his head, each worse than the last.

Valene swallowed hard and took in a quick, sharp breath. For a moment, he thought she was going to cry, but then she spoke. Details trickled out in short, quiet whispers, and as they fell from her lips, Alistair felt his stomach twist.

When she finally showed him her hand, he tasted bile in the back of his throat. Setting his jaw as anger welled, he made himself – made _her_ – a silent promise. Even if it meant his own life, Loghain _would_ die.

* * *

"Quit tryin' to pester her. She'll talk strategy when she feels like it." Oghren didn't really like the Arl, even if the man did have a seemingly endless supply of beer and spirits on hand. The noble was just like any other – trying to lead everyone else around by the nose before shoving them into a dung heap in search of gold. _Anything to keep their own hands clean._

The Arl frowned at him, pursing his lips. "The queen wishes to speak with her. The Landsmeet will be held in a week's time and we need more evidence against Loghain."

Letting out a yawn, Oghren scratched his belly absently. "Bah, you're just sore she's let Alistair in and not you. You've got guards. Send _them_ to do your dirty work. The Warden got enough sodding trouble out of your last adventure." He hadn't seen her yet, but the two mages hadn't shut up about it, ranting and raving about Loghain's methods. He admitted to being a little impressed she'd surrendered – he'd never doubted the Warden's bravery when they were facing down darkspawn, but willingly handing yourself over took some stones. _Big ones_.

"I don't trust my men to do what needs to be done in cases like this. Valene is far more capable." The snippy tone was beginning to grate on Oghren's nerves, and he frowned when he found his drinking horn empty.

Standing up from the over-stuffed chair, he stretched before fixing the Arl with a look. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. You don't want to get your nobley little hands dirty, so you're having her do it for you." Setting off towards the kitchens, Oghren couldn't help but shake his head. If it was up to him he would've left the Arl at Redcliffe, politics be damned, and shortened Loghain by a head the first chance he got.

He let out a low chuckle, grinning at no one in particular. "Heh, probably why I'm not in charge." Bleeding politics. _No wonder Branka'd gone crazy_.

* * *

Searching Anora's face, Valene found nothing but a cool, calculating calm. It was eerily similar to the look Eamon got any time he felt _certain_ he had the upper hand, but on the queen it was... different. Despite the other woman's station, the confidence that radiated from her never felt condescending the way it did with Eamon. She'd expressed genuine thanks and concern over her well-being, another point in the queen's favor. Valene was beginning to see why she was so popular among the people _and_ the nobility.

Still, the accusations against the woman's own father were nothing short of shocking, and Valene had taken a few moments to regain her composure. "After watching the Teryn leave half of Ferelden's army to_ die_, I shouldn't be surprised he's selling people..." But she _was_, and all of the rumors of plague and unrest in the alienage all made sense.

The queen nodded once, a slight frown turning her mouth. "I heard Arl Howe discussing it – I doubt it was my father's idea, but Howe would have had difficulty doing it without father's blessing." The queen's tone was no different than the one she had used at Howe's estate. Calm, clipped, tinged with the slightest bit of emotion. Last time it had been relief – now, Valene could only hear the slightest determined edge.

Anora took Valene's silence for acquiescence and launched into a list of what needed to be done. A pass was written to allow them into the alienage, while what little information she'd gleaned from overheard conversations was written down in a flowing hand.

As Valene thanked the queen and moved to leave, the other woman cleared her throat slightly. "I had also hoped to discuss your intentions at the Landsmeet." From anyone else it may have been a suggestion, but Valene knew it for a command and nodded once.

Folding her hands neatly, the queen fixed her with a calculating eye. "I realize Arl Eamon intends to put Alistair on the throne. From his looks, there is little doubting his parentage, but he is entirely untested when it comes to command. He is the senior Warden of you two, yes?" Valene nodded once. "And yet you are the one who leads. He is unschooled in the art of politics and did not take up command when the burden fell to him." Here the queen paused for a moment, but Valene motioned to continue, a slight chill creeping up her spine. "You may, of course, find my proposal selfish, but I assure you, I am interested in the well-being of Ferelden. The best course of action for this is if I remain queen."

The chill seemed to spread through her, freezing her on the spot. Since he had first confessed his royal blood, Valene had seen no second option. It was his blood-right, his _duty_ to be Ferelden's king. Presented with another, bred to rule, and proven in skill, she was sorely tempted to take the queen up on her offer.

Realizing the queen was waiting for her to reply, Valene spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully. "I don't contest your ability, your majesty. Alistair does have the blood – _he_ is Cailan's heir."

Waving a hand almost dismissively, Anora nodded. "Yes, that may be true, but even Cailan – a son raised to the throne – had little head for it. Putting someone as untried as Alistair would be folly."

There was a sense in what she said, but Valene couldn't separate her desire to have Alistair to herself from the practicality of Anora retaining the throne. "I... need time to think this over. And if we can't find proof in the alienage, there will be little to be done besides waiting for the executioner's axe." The thought of another night in Fort Drakon made Valene's skin crawl, and she had a sudden urge to be back on the roads, in the woods – _anywhere_ but in the shadow of the foreboding stone tower.

"Of course. We will speak of this once you have the necessary evidence." The queen's confidence was a little unsettling, but Valene forced a smile and a small curtsey before leaving.

Walking through the halls, she absently ran a thumb over the fresh scar on her hand and headed to her rooms. She needed to think.

* * *

_AN: Sorry for the delay! Camping and batch-cooking before I start up uni has been eating up my time. Thank you for hanging in there! _


	41. Chapter 40

As the others wrinkled their nose in disgust, Shale found herself feeling rather smug – she didn't have to breathe in the stench the way they did. She'd though Honnleath had been depressing, but she'd yet to see anything so thoroughly pathetic as the alienage. The elves lived in absolute squalor, their disgusting fluids and excretions running under the houses in coarse, unprotected gutters. It was nothing short of shocking after the painted elf's insistence on bathing at every stream or bath they'd encountered. She'd previously found it an incredible waste of time whenever the Warden had given in, but she now found herself... indisposed to future protests.

At least the stares of the tiny, filthy inhabitants were amusing. The youngest of them seemed amazed, while the older ones either gaped in horror or stared and pretended to look away whenever she caught their eye. Shale was not fooled.

The Warden was arguing with a tall, bored-looking human, when a angry, red-headed elf joined in. Shale let out a low grunt of annoyance at the shrill voices.

"You share my distaste for this foolishness, _kadan_." The qunari was glowering at the three as well, entirely unimpressed by the display. Shale had been more than a little put off when Sten had begun to call the Warden_ kadan_ as well. Despite the Warden's tendency to injury, it hadn't died yet, which never ceased to be a source of amazement. _Not that it doesn't _try_ to get killed._

"They are rather obnoxious, aren't they? A wonder they get anything done with the way they carry on." The Warden and the red-haired elf were talking now, each of them throwing glances at the tall human in front of the infirmary.

The Warden suddenly nodded and turned, an icy blue glow surrounding her hands. The others drew their weapons, and Shale couldn't help smiling. She loved the sound of screaming in the morning.

* * *

Anora was beautiful – golden hair, calm blue eyes, skin smooth and with cheeks ever so slightly pink. A warm smile curved her lips as Valene entered the queen's room. "Warden, please come in. We have much to speak of."

Nodding absently as she moved to the over-stuffed couch, Valene tried to ignore how plain – and inexperienced – she felt next to the queen. The woman wasn't just beautiful – she was calculating, experienced, and suited to the politics that had Valene torn between frustration and despair. It certainly didn't help that the idea of leaving the throne to Anora and keeping Alistair to herself had been tempting her the last few days. Ferelden would be in capable hands, Alistair would be free from his obligation and the two of them wouldn't have to sneak into rooms at night in a poor attempt at subtlety.

It wasn't that she didn't _want_ Alistair. But now, this far into everything, this close to the Landsmeet, when everything was suddenly real and no longer some distant future, it was _herself_ she couldn't trust. She couldn't tell if her desire to let Anora keep the throne was born of practicality or her own selfish wants. She'd been so certain before arriving – that Alistair was the proper heir, that she could handle being nothing more than the king's mistress – but with that future staring her down, her certainty had begun to waver. Glances and whispers from the servants only stirred her anger, and Eamon's constant pressure on her to end the relationship was wearing her down. And now Riordan – finally arrived at the Arl's estate, after doing Andraste-knows-what for the last two days – was pressing her as well, telling her to focus on her duty to the Wardens, warning her to not be so involved with the man who would be king. Even her dreams haunted her. In between nightmares of Fort Drakon, the Archdemon whispered through her, the words unintelligible, but the pull of its twisted song was all too clear. The weight of it all was almost too big a burden to bear, pushing down on her, twisting her insides into knots until even the nights spent with Alistair felt like desperate attempts to cling to each other before they were torn apart.

"Warden?" Anora's voice had the slightest touch of concern. "Valene?"

Blinking, Valene realized she'd been staring. Licking her lips nervously, she took a seat, avoiding the queen's inquisitive gaze. "I apologize, your majesty. The past week has been..." _Exhausting. Terrifying. Painful_. There were too many words to describe it – none of them good. "You wanted to talk?"

The queen arched one eyebrow before giving a slight shrug. "Yes. Last time we spoke I asked you to consider leaving the throne in my hands. I have proved myself over the years and I am well-loved by the people. Alistair is a stranger to them, and untried. I am obviously the better choice for Ferelden." There was an odd earnestness in her tone, a light behind her eyes when she spoke.

A cold chill settled into Valene's bones. She wasn't so stupid as to think Anora was simply interested in Ferelden's well-being, but she _could_ see the queen cared for her country. There was no more time to toss around possibilities in her head, however; she had to make the choice now. "I have no doubt of your capabilities." Those blue eyes grew sharp as Valene took a slow breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "But Alistair is Maric's son. Ferelden deserves the blood of Calenhad if an heir still survives."

Anora pursed her lips, frowning slightly. Silence hung between them for a few moments while Valene watched the other woman's face shift ever-so-slightly. Her eyes suddenly widened, and the pleasant smile was back, though this time it was accompanied by the slightest tightness. "Then there is a solution. You wish to have Maric's blood on the throne, but you also recognize my ability to rule. He will need a wife of noble birth to provide him an heir – and there is no better choice than I. A marriage between the daughter of the Hero of the River Dane and the son of Maric will show that taking my father off of the throne was not a petty move, but a calculated one, done to strengthen Ferelden and her people."

The skin on Valene's scalp tingled and she felt bile rise in the back of her throat. She'd known Alistair would have to marry someone else, she just hadn't expected it _now_. "You wish to marry him." The queen nodded once, face smooth and impartial. Anora knew – she _had_ to know – that she and Alistair shared a bed. Heat crept into her cheeks, and Valene felt a sudden pang of shame as she tried to find the words to express the mess of emotions. "And what of... what of the two of us?" She felt the heat spread to her ears, but she set her jaw, determined to retain composure.

"Cailan was promised to me when we were children, but still, he strayed." There was a tightness around the woman's mouth and eyes as she said this, and Valene felt a small measure of pity. "The marriage would only be for political reasons. So long as you do not interfere with… attempts to produce an heir, or bear him any children, I will not protest your relationship." Slowly opening her eyes, Valene studied the queen. There was a stubborn sort of grimness to her face – a woman willing to do what was necessary to retain her place.

Nodding numbly, Valene spoke slowly, each word picked with care. "I can't have children." It was true enough even without a Warden lover. The difficulty of conceiving with a had been mentioned once, but this knowledge had come from Riordan, uttered with a dismissive wave. He'd thought she'd wanted Alistair for his royal blood, wanted to get an heir to secure her place in Ferelden politics. "Clearing Ferelden of darkspawn once the Blight is ended will keep me occupied for some time." Plenty of time for Anora and Alistair to- _No. Don't dwell on it_. Inhaling sharply, Valene shook her head. "I will not threaten any children you might have."

"Then it is settled? You'll speak of this with Alistair?" A soft whimper escaped Valene's lips before she even realized it had begun. Telling Alistair would be even worse than agreeing.

She would do it, though. She _had_ to. Hearing something like this from Eamon – or worse, Anora – would only make it worse. "Yes." Anora opened her mouth to say something, but Valene cut her off. "Then it's understood. You and Alistair will rule together, and you will support us at the Landsmeet." Standing, Valene bowed slightly to the queen. "Please excuse me, I have things to do."

All but fleeing from the woman, Valene went straight for her room. She needed to be alone, to think, to prepare. And then she would do the unthinkable – arrange the marriage of her lover to another woman.

The tears stung her eyes as she locked the door and continued long after she had locked herself inside.

* * *

Alistair entered the Arl's study quietly, smiling at the silhouette of Valene against the fire. She'd dug out the robes again and she'd had one of the maids adjust it to better fit. It was still a touch too large, but he could see the indent of her waist and the slight curve of her hip beneath the fabric. Closing the door behind him with a quick turn of the lock, Alistair closed the distance in a few quick paces. Valene began to turn as his footsteps grew closer, but he caught her in his arms, pressing her back to him as he dipped his head to press his lips to her neck. "You called?"

She moved as if to pull away, but he held her close. She was warm, her skin soft, and things felt _right_ whenever she was in his arms. "Alistair, I have to talk to you–" He had moved a hand as she spoke, cupping her cheek and turning her face to her shoulder as he moved his mouth to cover hers. She responded with a small murmur and he felt her relax against him. When their lips parted, she let out a sigh and pressed her forehead to his cheek.

He smiled and kissed her temple before releasing her. "Now, what's so important that you had to kick Eamon out of his own study?"

She turned to face him and he could see the fatigue in her features – her cheeks were hollow and there were soft, purplish circles beneath her eyes. "I spoke with Anora." Alistair felt his heart jump – Valene had mentioned the queen had wanted to keep the throne. He'd felt relief at the news, but also an odd sense of loss. The more he'd seen of Loghain's crimes, the more he'd felt that being king meant he could at least _do _something, make some difference in the lives of Ferelden's people. Valene hadn't been so quick to agree to the idea, and he found himself holding his breath, waiting for the verdict. "She refused to support us if she could not be queen, and we need her."

Alistair couldn't help the smile that formed. "Does this mean I managed to squirm out of the whole 'royal' thing?" Valene opened her eyes then, and his grin slid from his face. Her eyes were wet and her mouth was set in a grimace. "What's wrong? What happened?" He moved to hug her once again, but she shook her head, holding up her hands.

"No, not yet. Not until I've told you what's happened." Her chest rose and fell with short, sharp breaths, and he could see her face clouding with apprehension. "I told her that Maric's blood – Calenhad's blood – belonged on the throne, no matter her capability. And she... she suggested that you–" Tears began rolling down her cheeks as Valene struggled to speak. "That you... marry her."

The words seemed to taken an age to sink in as he stood there, staring at Valene. _Marry _Anora? The idea seemed crazy, yet... it wasn't all bad either. He could do worse in a wife.

"W-we might be able to win the Landsmeet without her, but... Oh _Maker_." Valene was shaking her head now, face in her hands. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have agreed to this, the Bannorn might support us." The words staggered out her lips inbetween sobs.

His heart ached and his mind spun as he tried to make sense of the words. He loved Valene – he wanted to be with her, and _only_ her more than anything, but he also knew that if he became king, he would have to marry another. He'd have to sleep with another, try for children with someone else. He'd quietly ignored this part of becoming king while his head had filled with visions of making Ferelden stronger, making it _better_. And now – now he had a marriage proposal that would fulfill both of those visions while shattering the dream of being with the one he loved.

Running a hand through his hair, Alistair let out a slow breath. He could do worse in a wife than Anora, but that didn't mean he was ready to give up Valene. _Not yet_._ Not ever_. "And what about us? What about _you?_"

Valene wiped the tears from her eyes and let out a bitter laugh. "Anora says she'll tolerate it as long as we don't have children. And as long as you try to produce an heir." It wasn't perfect, but Alistair felt the tightness in his chest relax just a little.

Sliding his arms around her again, Alistair hugged her tight, closing his eyes. In all his dreams growing up, he'd never thought he'd be in a position where his lover and his wife were anything other than the same person. He hated the thought of being like his father – unfaithful, wandering – but it would be different with him. He _loved_ Valene. Pressing his lips to her temple, he closed his eyes. "I'll do it – I'll marry Anora." He felt Valene start to shrink away, but he held firm. "But you're the one I love."

Valene tilted her head towards him, mouth slightly open as she stared at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "You... are you sure?"

Gently stroking her hair, he nodded. "Yes. I'm not losing you." _Not to an arranged marriage. Not to my blood. Not to _anything_ when I can do something about it._ He'd do what he had to for Ferelden, but it stopped there. He would keep his love in his life, even if it _was_ selfish. He didn't need to love Anora to rule Ferelden well.

Fingers tangled in his hair as Valene pulled him down for a kiss and he complied, pressing her body more firmly against his. This, _this_, felt right. If they could make it through this, they could make it through anything.

Sighing softly against her mouth, Alistair lost himself

* * *

_Holy long time between updates. Sorry for the long wait! Sudden character difficulties (now sorted out) and grad school are a bad combination for publishing a story like this regularly. I have not abandoned you or this story. Thanks, as always, for your patience._


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